Crumpets Aren't My Style
by Marz1
Summary: General O'Neill is sent on a nice relaxing dipolmatic mission in the U.K. Of course there's bound to be trouble when he runs into a murderous cult called the Death Eaters, who've some how gotten their hands on alien technology. SG1xHP REVIEW!
1. In Which the USAF Gets Involved

Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate. I don't own Harry Potter. I don't have any money. Please leave me alone.

Author's note: HaHaHa! Because I don't have enough half finished stories up there already! I haven't seen a SG1 H.P. crossover yet (though I'm sure there are some out there) I thought I'd give it a try. Let me know what you think. Reviews rock. Thanks!

**Crumpets Aren't My Style**

**By Marz**

**In Which the United State's Air Force Gets Involved**

            He picked up another souvenir flag, and checked the small print on the little wooden stick that held it aloft. _Made in Taiwan _was stamped neatly on the side. He snorted and set it back down. So far he didn't think much of London. It seemed like just another version of New York or L.A. or Moscow. Of course with all the places he'd been to, it took more to impress him. Not that he begrudged the afternoon he'd spent wandering around there. He was supposed to be "taking it easy" on this mission, and now he was.

            General Jack O'Neil had told his aid he'd had a bad reaction to the blood pudding at lunch, (and really, how could you not?), and would be unable to attend another horrible evening of picking out the proper fork and listening to people announce long honorifics and give dull speeches. It wasn't like the queen was coming or anything. After that it wasn't hard climb out his window and then scale the embassy fence. If he had to be away from the mountain, he had better things to do with his time, like finding a properly tacky gift for Teal'c. He spotted a store across the street that held some promises, and as the light changed in his favor he began to cross. Of course things had to turn strange at some point, he was just hoping to have a bit more free time before they did.

            A man appeared with a small pop on the other side of the street. O'Neil might have been able to dismiss it as poorly timed blinking, except that the man was dressed in a long black cloak and had an intricately carved wooden staff in his hand. O'Neil didn't realize he'd stopped walking until the car horn resounded in his ears. He looked over his shoulder and saw the BMW bearing down on him.

_Absent Minded American General Crushed By Car While Gawking At Alien._

Though the thought was completely useless, it was all that went through his head as he started to move out of the way, knowing he wouldn't be fast enough. Unexpectedly, he received a bit of help.

            There was a sudden impact at the small of his back and then he was rolling across the ground. Disoriented, he put his hands to his head and sat up. The BMW was turning the corner, and apparently hadn't slowed down in the slightest. He squinted, catching the plate number, and then looked around. A few people on the sidewalk had stopped to gawk at his near death experience, and the teenage boy who'd pushed him to safety was crawling to his feet by the curb.

            The kid wore a tee shirt at least six sizes to big for him, and had scraped up his elbows pretty badly. He had a pale, almost gaunt face that looked even paler compared to black birds nest of hair on top of his head. He was blinking owlishly, and O'Neil saw a pair of cracked glasses a few feet away. He retrieved them and walked back to the kid. 

            The kid was looking at him with almost inhumanly green eyes. _Or maybe I'm just getting loopy and seeing aliens everywhere._ He looked around for the weird guy in the robes but didn't see him.

            "Are you alright, Sir?" the kid asked, accepting the glasses and forlornly inspecting the cracked lens.

            "Oh, me? I'm great. You're sort of a mess though," O'Neil added.

            "Er…well that's good," the kid said, and then turned and jogged up the street.

            "Hang on!" O'Neil said, trying to catch up.

            He had to at least pay for new glasses. The kid out distanced him easily though, slipping through the crowd, while O'Neil was forced to shove his way past a mass of grumpy British citizens that seemed to materialize out of thin air. At the end of the block he caught sight of the kid, who seemed to be in a big hurry to disappear.

            "THANKS!" O'Neil shouted at the top of his not inconsiderable lungs.

            The people around him paused to look offended, but the kid turned, gave a sort of shy wave, and then vanished into the crowd again. 

            Night finally fell and O'Neil thought it was probably time to return to the embassy, as his aid had probably noticed his absence, and was most likely in a state of complete panic. Of course that required him to find the embassy again, which was starting to become a problem. O'Neil had an uncanny sense of direction, but for some reason he could not seem to find his way out of this particular neighborhood. He knew he'd passed the same lamp post six times, because he'd taken to marking it with a pen, each go-around. He was at that low point where he was willing to ask a local for directions, but the streets seemed completely abandoned. He even resorted to calling the embassy, but his cell phone failed to make the connection.

            He came to the mouth of an alley, and a strong instinct to hide over took him. He hadn't made it this close to sixty by ignoring his instincts, so he crouched in a stairwell and watched. His hand went to the holster in his left armpit. The policies were pretty clear. He wasn't supposed to be carrying his 9mm around, as guns were illegal in the U.K., but he couldn't go completely unarmed, as quite a few people had the unpleasant habit of trying to assassinate him. And since he was a General, it was within his power to requisition certain other defensive weapons for the duration of his trip to England. Using the zat was a last resort of course.

            Two loud cracking sounds split the air, and suddenly there were two men standing at the end of the alley. They walked up the cobble street, but did not see him in his hiding spot. The men wore black hooded cloaks, and white skull like masks hid their faces. It wasn't the M.O. of any System Lord he knew about, but something was definitely not human about those two. They turned the corner and O'Neil slipped after them.

            Distantly he heard the echoes of an explosion, and a faint cry of pain. The men in front of him broke into a run and pulled some kind of weapon from their sleeves. They looked like sticks, but from the way the men carried them, O'Neil knew he should not end up on the wrong end of one. The men came to the end of another block, and two others in black robes and skull masks came out of the shadows to meet them. O'Neil ducked behind an abandon car and strained his ears to listen.

            "…brat's around here somewhere. I hit him at least twice," said a gravely male voice.

            "With what? If you'd just stunned him like you were ordered…"

            "The Master said we could have a bit of fun with him…"

            "After he's capture you dolt! If that boy gets away it'll be our corpses he feeds to the snake!"

            "Don't get your knickers in a twist! I hit him in the leg, and he was bleeding like a stuck pig. He's just hiding around here somewhere. The charms'll keep him in the neighborhood. All we have to do is find him."

            "You'd best find him now then. The Master is not patient."

            With that the group split up. O'Neil grumbled to himself, and slipped further into the shadows. He definitely had to find that kid first.

            It took him all of twenty minutes. Whoever hired this goon squad had some pretty low standards. He found the trail of blood spatter right away, and even at night it wasn't hard to follow. He tracked it to another alley, but ducked into a deeply shadowed doorway as a clatter came from up ahead. The lid of a dumpster was slowly rising a few yards away. Apparently its occupant thought the coast was clear because, he rolled out over the edge and fell sprawling on the cobble street below. O'Neil got a strange sense of too much coincidence as he recognized the kid.

            The overlarge tee-shirt was now stained with grime and blood and one of his legs dragged uselessly as he hauled himself to his feet, but it was the same kid. As the boy staggered up the alley O'Neil slipped up behind him. He clamped one hand over the kid's mouth and caught him around the waist with the other, dragging him back into the shadows. The kid kicked with his working leg and tried to pull away, but it didn't take much to restrain him.

            "Calm down, I'm not gonna' hurt you alright?" O'Neil hissed in the kid's ear.   

            The kid stopped fighting, but as O'Neil turned the kid around, he looked out of his mind with terror.

            "They're going to kill you," the kid whispered. "You have to hide! They're only after me! I'll lead them away."

            "We'll put that in the plan B pile how about?" O'Neil said, shaking his head.

            Up close he could see the boy's wounds with unpleasant clarity. Blood was oozing from the kid's shoulder, lower back, stomach, and right leg. Most appeared to be burns from energy weapons but there were a few cuts that must have come from a blade. As he didn't have a med-kit with him, O'Neil had to settle with stuffing the quietly protesting teenager into his much prized leather jacket. He tried his cell phone one last time, but as there was still no signal.

            O'Neil used his left arm to support the boy's weight, leaving his right hand free to aim the zat. He glanced up at the sky overhead, and fortunately the infamous London fog had taken the night off. He found the North Star and got oriented. He didn't bother trying to navigate toward the embassy. North and away from the hostiles was good enough.

            "Please don't do this," the kid gasped. Even with O'Neil's help walking was a struggle. "You don't know what you're up against. They'll kill you. Please just leave! I can't have anyone else die because of me."

            O'Neil clamped his hand over the kid's mouth again. He could hear foot steps. He settled the kid against the wall and crouched at the corner of the alley, zat leveled. Two of the men in black robes and white masks walked past. One of them looked towards O'Neil, and was immediately hit with a pulse of indigo light. His arms twitched and he fell against his companion, who was hit in the next instant. O'Neil peeked into the street, but no one else was coming. He grabbed the men by their robes and dragged them out of sight. A quick search of their pockets turned up nothing immediately useful, but the kid crawled over and picked up the stick weapons.

            The boy held up one in his right hand and waved it, muttering something in Latin. O'Neil wasn't terribly surprised when nothing happened. The boy picked up the second stick and repeated the phrase. A bright red spark shot from the end of the stick and hit the wall of the alley, scorching it. The boy snapped the first stick in half and threw it down on the unconscious man he'd taken it off of, with a very satisfied air.

            "Why didn't you say you were a wizard?" the kid asked, as O'Neil pulled him to his feet once again.

            O'Neil didn't know quite how to respond to the question so he just shrugged. The kid pointed at the zat.

            "How come you're using that instead of a wand?"

            "Better sound effects?" O'Neil responded.

The kid sure didn't act like any alien species he'd run into before, though thinking alien tech was magic was common enough. The kid also seemed very English, which either meant another silent invasion had slipped the military's notice, or there was a group of locals who'd figured out some remnant technology. O'Neil sighed and checked the street, before pulling him quickly along. He got the feeling he was being watched, but as he was unable to do anything about it, he pretended he didn't notice. They came across a car a few blocks further on, and O'Neil broke in the back window as quietly as possible. He opened the door and leaned under the dash board, trying to find the right wires in the dim light. The feeling of being watched came back, more strongly then ever. He pulled his zat and looked around.

The kid was leaning back against the car, the stick in his hand pointed at a sewer grate across the street. He was about to ask the kid what he saw when an impossibly large snake popped out of the sewer grate as if it had been fired from a canon.

"Reducto!" the kid shouted and a huge red spark shot from the end of the stick.

The snake pulled back to avoid the light, changing direction and heading for O'Neil. A shot from the zat hit it square in the head, but it kept coming. Three more bull's eyes only slowed it down. It reared up and its jaw dropped open. O'Neil was almost certain a snake that big couldn't be venomous, but as the fangs came at his throat, he felt the tinniest bit of doubt.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

Suddenly the snake was no longer bearing down on him, and instead was hovering fifty feet in the air, looking very unhappy.

"Nice," O'Neil said.

"Thanks," said the kid, whose arm was shaking more then a little. "Could you hurry up and start the car. This thing isn't getting any lighter."

O'Neil leaned back under the dash board and after a few minutes of cussing and mild electric shocks he heard the engine turn over with a loud groan. When it was chugging along consistently O'Neil pulled the kid in, and stomped on the gas. As they peeled away from the curb the snake fell from the sky. It hit the pavement and though it seemed a bit stunned it was slithering after them in the next second.

As they turned the corner another black robed figure appeared before the car. O'Neil leaned out the window and took a few shots with the zat, but the shots went wide, as he was trying not to crash into a phone pole and aim simultaneously. Fortunately the kid was keeping his end covered. As the robed man avoided one of O'Neil's shots, he stepped right into the kid's line of fire. A blue light struck him and sent him sailing into the pavement.

O'Neil checked the rearview. The snake was falling even further behind, and things were starting to look up. He took a left.

"What the hell?"

His mouth dropped open as he recognized the street. There was the broken glass from their stolen car, and the open sewer grate where the snake had come out. He'd taken one left and one right turn. It wasn't possible for them to be on this street again. He was still struggling with the apparent warp in the space/time continuum when the car slammed into something. The steering wheel struck him in the face and for a moment he saw stars.

"Wake up! Get up!" The kid's panicked voice hissed in his ear.

O'Neil groaned and blinked. The kid had been smart enough to put on a seat belt, so the crash hadn't left him any worse off. O'Neil felt blood running down his face, and was fairly certain he'd just broken his nose. He shook his head clear and felt the floor of the car for the zat. He found it and climbed out. The kid crawled out after him. What ever the car had hit wasn't there any more. O'Neil scanned the street and saw three black robed figures sauntering towards them. He checked the charge on the zat. It was good for ten more shots at least. He dropped to one knee and fired three times.

Two of the black robes fell, twitching in a haze of indigo light. The third vanished from the path of the shot and reappeared a few feet to O'Neil's right. O'Neil rolled just in time to avoid a blast of red light that took the hood off the car and started the engine on fire.

"Move kid!" O'Neil shouted, as he scrambled away from another blast of red light and fired some indigo right back.

The kid shouted something that may have been "help" but it was cut off half way. O'Neil spared him a glance as he dodged and fired again. The snake had caught up with them. The kid was wrapped in thick coils of scaly flesh. His mouth hung open, trying in vain to pull air into his crushed lungs. O'Neil was about to take a shot at the snake.

BOOM!

The buildings around them rattled as the totaled car's gas tank exploded. For a moment O'Neil's feet couldn't find the ground, and then he was tumbling across the pavement. He moved his fingers and realized the zat was gone from his hand. A shadow came between him and the flaming car.

"Stupefy!" called a gloating voice.

The world disappeared in a flash of red.


	2. The Devil I Don't Know

**Crumpets Aren't My Style**

**By Marz**

**The Devil I Don't Know**

He woke with the fading echo of a scream in his ears. O'Neil blinked and sat up too quickly. He went to put his hands to the sides of his head, and found them bound together with thick shackles. The chain between them clanked loudly.

"Somebody's awake!" said a delighted and falsely childlike voice. "Should we see if he wants to play too?"

There was a fireplace on the far side of the cavernous room, but the glowing embers within it provided little light. He could see the outlines of ornate furniture, and a single figure coming slowly towards him. There was a sudden motion in the darkness, and blast of red energy reignited the dying fire. A tall woman in black robes and a skull mask stood before him. Her eyes were wide and jiggled slightly in their sockets. He stared back at her evenly. Seemingly disappointed, she waved her hand dismissively and turned her back on him. His hands curled into fists as he saw where she was going.

The kid was strung up on the opposite wall, his wrists chained over his head. His wounds had not been treated, but despite his grievous injuries, he was conscious. O'Neil saw the jacket he'd loaned to the boy lying on the floor a few feet away. The kid's glasses were gone, but he didn't seem to have any trouble focusing on the woman approaching him. No one could glare that hatefully without a whole lot of history.

The woman laughed and with no other warning, her hand darted out, catching a hand full of the boy's hair. She twisted his head around until the kid's neck popped.

"Hey!" O'Neil shouted.

The woman turned to look at him.

"Does the phrase 'pick on someone your own size' have any meaning to you?" he asked.

"Oh god no!" the kid whispered, squinting hard. O'Neil guest the kid hadn't known he was there, until he spoke.

"Oh yes!" the woman declared. "I was hoping to catch Alice and Frank's little boy with you, but I guess he'll do."

She pointed the stick she was carrying at O'Neil. The kid started shouting.

"You bitch! I'll kill you! Leave him alone! He's got nothing to do with this!"

She lowered the weapon for a moment to consider the kid. "You've replaced my dear cousin already? It's hardly been a month. I'm nearly offended on his behalf. Do you love this new one too?"

The woman turned towards O'Neil. "Do you hug him, and tuck him into bed at night?" she asked.

"Kind of a pervert, aren't you?" O'Neil said flatly.

The woman glared at him. "You dare speak that way to me?"

O'Neil was preparing a sarcastic comeback when the kid started shouting again, trying to regain the madwoman's attention.

"They'll know where you took me! Dumbledore always knows. They'll be here any minute and you'll be back in Azkaban where you belong!"

Apparently unimpressed, the woman pointed the stick at O'Neil.

"Crucio!"

Pain.

Pure, simple pain.

O'Neil clenched his jaw and curled up in a ball, but that did nothing to relieve it. It felt like he was dying, but not in any specific manner. After a moment the pain disappeared. He sat up and worked his fingers a bit to get the circulation going again. _A little worse then electrocution, still not as bad as being burned to death with acid._ _Ah, the fun comparisons you can make after being captured by the Go 'auld. _

"Ouch," he said, mildly.

The woman took several steps towards him, and raised the stick again.

"CRUCIO!" she shrieked in a cracking, nearly hysterical voice.

The pain returned. His limbs jerked a bit, and he barely avoided biting his tongue. It lasted longer the second time. When it stopped the woman was staring down at him.

"Ouch again," O'Neil said.

The woman howled. She tore off her mask and threw it down on the floor. Her face must have been stunning in her youth, but now it was wasted away, nearly as skull like as the mask she'd discarded. O'Neil watched her building up to a tantrum. "Why won't you scream?"

"Honestly? It's because I've had better."

"CRUCIO!" she howled at the top of her lungs.

It was a bit worse. Besides the pain, O'Neil lost feeling in legs and his head felt as if it was about to burst. When it stopped it took him a minute to remember where he was. He looked up at the woman standing over him. She was breathing heavily and her arms were shaking.

"You're still here?" O'Neil asked groggily.

She shrieked and for a whole minute seemed incapable of articulation.

"…teach you some respect…when the master comes…you'll learn…you'll beg for death…"

"Yeah, sure," O'Neil said, sitting up.

Across the room the kid suddenly started to struggle against his chains. His breath became quick and panicked.

"What's wrong?" O'Neil asked, ignoring the crazy woman muttering and pacing between them.

"He's coming," the kid whispered, "He's coming."

As if on queue the doors on the far side of the large room swung open. A towering figure in a gray hooded cloak entered. He seemed almost to glide across the floor. On either side of him, marched a black robed skull masked lackey, and following behind the odd group was the huge snake that had chased them in London. At least O'Neil thought it was the same snake. He wasn't an expert on giant snakes or anything. The woman rushed forward and threw herself at Gray Cloak's feet, touching the hem of his robes with obsessive reverence.

Gray Cloak ignored her, stepping around the prone woman, as he would an ill positioned footstool. He walked straight up to the kid, and put his hand under the boy's chin, tipping it up. The kid shuddered like he'd just been hit with 50,000 volts, and his eyes rolled back in his head. After a few seconds the kid slumped down, unconscious. Gray Cloak laughed softly, as if the kid had just done something endearing. He turned away from the kid and glided towards O'Neil.

His inhumanly long pale fingers came up to remove the hood that obscured his face.

O'Neil had seen uglier, but not many. He couldn't tell if the man before him was a human trying to look alien, or an alien trying to look human. Though the almost translucent skin and lipless mouth were notable, the glowing red eyes were what really stood out. He opened his mouth to speak and O'Neil saw a set of very snakelike fangs. O'Neil was expecting a low echoing Go 'auld voice, but instead the creature hissed.

"You are a muggle," he (or maybe it) said.

"Uh…thank?" O'Neil said.

"Who do you work for?" he asked.

"The United States of America."

The creature stared at him as he answered and there was a strange crawling sensation in his head. O'Neil's eyes drifted back to the kid, who was starting to come around. The creature held up his hand, palm up, and suddenly O'Neil's zat appeared in it.

"Who gave you this?"

"Santa Claus?"

Apparently that was not the response he was looking for. The creature suddenly had one of those stick weapons in its hand.

"Crucio!" he hissed.

This time it was a real challenge not to scream, but after a second his jaw was clenched so tight he couldn't have if he wanted to. It faded away slowly. He wanted to throw up, but he hadn't eaten anything recently. _Nothing since the blood pudding_, he thought, and the desire to empty his stomach became even stronger. _Why don't they have any edible food? You'd think at an embassy they could scrounge up some descent pasta. I'd even prefer M.R.E.s._ He realized his mind was wandering and tried to get it back on task. The red eyed creature was still staring at him.

"You don't happen to work for Anubis do you?" O'Neil asked.

The creature didn't respond.

"It's just that you have a very similar vibe. And fashion sense. Maybe you just buy from the same catalogue."

"Crucio!"

When O'Neil returned to his senses he found himself walking down a stone staircase, into an underground tunnel. He had no memory of how he got to be on the staircase, and there was a strange floating sensation in his head. He looked at the rough hewn rock walls and the two men in skull masks, marching on either side of him, and he could not imagine being any happier, which seemed strange to him, so he stopped walking.

"Keep walking muggle," one of them ordered.

He was mildly surprised that his feet obeyed, and then realized that he should be more then just mildly surprised. _Oh, crap! Mind control._ As that clear thought forced its way into his head, the foggy happy feeling faded away. He remembered then. After three more rounds of crucio failed to illicit relevant answers, Gray Cloak had said something like "imperious" and hit him with another blast from that stick weapon. His stomach clenched a bit as he recalled spilling secrets about the SGC. Fortunately the creature thought he'd gone bonkers. O'Neil thought it did seem rather unlikely that the zat had been given to him by the former first prime of Apophis. The zat vanished and Gray Cloak ordered his goons to take O'Neil to the dungeon. _Jeez, what is it with evil guys and dungeons? _As he was escorted out they'd said something about the kid. Something about making sure somebody heard the kid. What did they call him? Potter? That was it.

_"You are certain the old man's spy will hear Potter? The potions lab is several floors below us."_

_"He will hear, Master."_

O'Neil remembered the screaming then. He had to get back up to that room.

The great thing about goons is that they aren't very clever, hence the name goons. They arrived in the dungeon. O'Neil waited until they were about to shove him into a cell.

"Shoe's untied," he said to the goon on his left.

They were slightly smarter then average goons. Instead of looking down to check his laces, the goon on the left roughly shoved him forward, which gave O'Neil enough room for what he thought was a very well executed spin-kick. Left goon crashed into the wall, momentarily stunned. Right goon aimed a stick weapon at him, but O'Neil lunged forward and pushed the other man's hand away, towards Left goon, who ended up on fire. As Left goon flailed about, O'Neil finished off Right goon with a knee in the groin, followed by a kick in the head.

He quickly searched Right goon's pockets for keys to the shackles, but didn't find any. He thought about searching Left goon, but as he was still on fire, he put that plan aside. He took Right goon's stick weapon, but couldn't get it to do anything. He kept it, incase the kid could get it working. He carefully made his way back up the steps, ducking into the shadows whenever people in skull masks walked by. O'Neil was a bit surprised that he went so completely unnoticed, but he supposed skull masks and hoods didn't help one's peripheral vision. Though he was able to find sufficient hiding places, he could not locate the staircase that would lead him back up to the house. Somebody was bound to find Left and Right goon soon. He saw another mask wearing lackey, heading down a nicely isolated and dark hall. _I hate asking directions_, O'Neil thought as he crept up behind the man, and slammed his head into the wall.

It took him a quarter of an hour to extract the necessary information from his captive, but during that time O'Neil also came up with what he thought was a fairly good escape plan. The first thing he needed was his zat. His captive informed him that interesting but unidentified acquisitions were stored in a room across from the potions lab. After getting directions; three corridors down, two left turns, and then a right, O'Neil knocked the man out, and barrowed his robes and mask.

He passed several groups of men in masks, but thankfully none of them stopped to chat. The storage room that held his zat was not guarded, and when he picked it up off a shelf no alarm sounded. The room was cluttered with bits of junk, jewelry, and jars he didn't want to look at too closely. He found a bit of twisted wire and picked the lock on his shackles, kicking them under a cabinet after he got them off. The zat had only enough power for four or five more shots. O'Neil tucked it into his oversized sleeve, and quietly prepared for the next, more difficult step of his plan.

_You've been listening to English people for almost a week straight. This shouldn't be too hard. The "a" is like the "a" in "maw", and then I've just got to sound like I've got a bad head cold. Alright, here goes nothing._ He palmed the zat, and walked into the potions lab across the hall.

A man with a very prominent nose and shoulder length, greasy black hair was leaning over a large bubbling cauldron, throwing in handfuls of spiders, and muttering in Latin. O'Neil was rather glad no one could see his mouth drop open under the mask. Greasy measured out a cup full of gray sludge from a carved wooden bowl, and mixed that into the cauldron as well. He set down the cup and turned to O'Neil.

"What do you want?" Greasy said in a low sneering voice.

"The Maw-ster requires your presence upstairs," O'Neil said, thinking he'd sounded at least passably British.

Greasy narrowed his eyes. "I told him the potion would be ruined if these interruptions continued."

O'Neil shrugged.

Greasy took a stick weapon from one of his sleeves and pointed it at the cauldron. With a sharply muttered word the contents of the cauldron vanished in a puff of smoke and the fire underneath it went dead. Greasy swept silently past him, out into the hall. O'Neil followed.

"I can find my own way," Greasy said irritably, noticing his new shadow.

"Perhaps," O'Neil replied, trying to sound cryptic, British, and villainous all at once.

His plan required Greasy to go in first. Gray Cloak had said something about the man in the potions lab being a spy, and O'Neil thought the unexpected arrival of Greasy would cause enough of a distraction for him to hit all the major players with the zat, before they knew what was what. Then he'd untie the kid, and they'd run like hell. It could work. Greasy led him right back to the cavernous main room. The door was open and O'Neil saw the man palm his stick weapon before he entered. _Not expecting good news I guess._

Luck actually decided to show at that point. Gray Cloak and his pet snake had wandered off somewhere, so only crazy woman and the kid were still there. Crazy woman stood between them and the kid, with her back to them. All O'Neil could see of the kid were his arms, which were twitching. The woman was giggling.

"What…?" Greasy said in surprise.

The crazy woman turned and shouted "You?"

She aimed her stick weapon at them, but O'Neil hit her in the face with a shot from the zat. She collapsed. Greasy tried to take a shot at O'Neil, but he kicked the weapon out of his hand. It sailed thorough the air and landed on the hearth. O'Neil aimed the zat in his face.

"Nothing stupid, or you'll end up like her," O'Neil said, nodding towards the crazy woman.

Greasy nodded, his eyes narrowed shrewdly. "Who are you?" he asked.

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you, though I might just do that anyway. Untie the kid," O'Neil ordered.

Greasy walked over to the kid, who was in very bad shape. While O'Neil was gone they'd carved a symbol into the skin of the kid's chest. He was bleeding too heavily for O'Neil to see exactly what it was, but it looked somewhat like a skull. How original. The kid's eyes were rolling around, but they came to a stop when he noticed Greasy standing in front of him.

"Dumbledore sent you?" he asked in a raspy voice.

"Not quite," Greasy answered, inspecting the chains that held the kid to the wall. "I need my wand," Greasy said after a moment, pointing to the stick that lay on the hearth. The kid watched them, but didn't seem to understand what was going on.

"Do with out," O'Neil replied.

"How am I supposed to unlock them?"

O'Neil rolled his eyes. "Keys maybe?"

Greasy gave him a scathing look. "What are you, a muggle?"

"Apparently," O'Neil said.

He waved Greasy out of the way, and used the bit of wire he'd found earlier to pick the lock on the kid's chains, which took all of thirty seconds. Once freed, the kid slumped to the ground and curled up in a ball. O'Neil bent down and shook his shoulder.

"Kid, you need to get up."

"Go 'way," the kid mumbled. "You're all trying to kill me," he added accusingly.

O'Neil pulled off the skull mask. "Look at me kid! I'm not trying to kill you. I'm trying to save your life. You need to get up. Can you get up?"

The kid groaned and struggled to sit up. "Oh it's you. He's gone to the dungeons to torture you."

"Good to know," O'Neil said.

He caught the kid under the arm and pulled him to his feet. The kid wobbled, but stayed upright. Greasy was trying to sneak over to the hearth and get his "wand", but he froze when O'Neil trained the zat on him again. O'Neil leaned the kid against a chair and collected Greasy and crazy woman's sticks, and added them to his collection. He picked up the woman's skull mask and pulled off her robes. The kid started babbling complaints as O'Neil put the woman's clothes on him, though he didn't see any particular gender bias in the cult member's uniform.

"You're going to get yourselves killed," Greasy said.

"You're going too," O'Neil said. "In fact, you're going first. Show us the quickest way out. Get moving."

O'Neil waved Greasy out the door and followed close behind. He had to keep a hand under the kids arm to keep him upright. Fortunately most of the attention from passing goons was focused on Greasy. After half an hour of wandering through convoluted passageways they cut through the kitchens and ended up outside. Dawn was just brightening the eastern edge of the sky. There was a small building a few yards away that O'Neil thought might have been servant's quarters. They breathed free air for all of six seconds before the alarm went off.

Whether they'd tripped some sensor, or somebody found the trail of unconscious goons, O'Neil never found out. The second the strange howling filled the air, he pulled the kid into a stumbling run. He looked back and was a bit surprised to see Greasy was running with them, when he could have slipped off unnoticed. Of course if he was some sort of spy, being seen in their company had probably blown his cover all to hell. Not that O'Neil cared all that much.

Greasy had picked a good door to exit through. They sprinted down a hill and came to an ivy covered fence. O'Neil immediately spotted a gap underneath where something had been digging. He shoved the kid through. There was a pop, and suddenly a man was standing in front of them. O'Neil shot him with the zat and slipped under the fence. Greasy followed a moment later.

They were standing in an old and overgrown graveyard. The kid was just sitting by the fence. O'Neil pulled him to his feet. The kid pointed at a group of head stones.

"Cedric died over there," the kid said in a flat voice.

O'Neil put a hand to the kid's back to push him along. He was sticky. O'Neil looked at his fingers, now coated in red liquid. The kid's robes had soaked through with blood. They hurried across the graveyard, towards a dry creek bed O'Neil had spotted when they were at the top of the hill. A robed figure popped into being in their path and O'Neil stunned him. Another appeared on their right and the zat took care of him as well. The air was filled with popping sounds as more and more robbed figures appeared.

O'Neil was a bit surprised when the zat produced six more shots before going dead with a sad little fizzle. He was even more surprised when Greasy whipped out a stick weapon, (probably from the man he'd stunned by the fence) and fired on the black robed men surrounding them. Greasy actually had decent aim. He took out five more of the masked men before a blue light struck him in the chest and the stick flew out of his hand. O'Neil pushed the kid behind him.

"You know this would be a really good time for the Asgard to show up," O'Neil said. He glanced at the sky for a moment, but the little gray aliens were apparently not listening. "Dang."

One of the masked men stepped forward. "Finally showing your true colors Snape? The Master has given me permission to flay you. If you survive Bellatrix gets to finish you off."

Greasy got a bit paler, but did not otherwise respond. The masked men moved in, stick weapons raised. O'Neil thought things were starting to look a little bad, when a familiar hum filled the air around them. O'Neil whirled and tackled the kid a second before a blast of orange light flew over their heads. It struck the man who'd threatened Greasy and he fell back with a smoking hole in his chest. The orange light came again, accompanied by a few indigo shots from zats, and lots of automatic weapons fire. The goons returned fire and the air filled with flashing lights and flying shrapnel.

SG1 had arrived.


	3. UFBs

Author's note: I acknowledge the miss spelling of O'Neill. Hooked-on-phonics is no help what so ever in this situation. I also need a bit of assistance with background for the story, since I haven't seen every episode of SG1. If you're willing to answer my questions, please hit that email button on my profile page, thanks!

**Crumpets Aren't My Style**

**By Marz**

**UFBs**

O'Neill pulled off his barrowed skull mask. A towering form that could only be Teal 'c fired over his head. Behind him someone howled in pain as the Jaffa's staff weapon found its mark. O'Neill's eyes scanned the skirmish line. He saw Carter half concealed behind a headstone twenty yards to the right. A few yards farther he saw the wide brim of a green hat that was probably covering Daniel's head. There were half a dozen other soldiers he didn't recognize, but their uniforms looked like British Special Forces.

"Come on kid we're almost there," O'Neill said, grabbing the boy's arm and giving it a tug.

There was no response. He squeezed his wrist harder. The boy had no reaction to what must have been a painfully tight grip. On the plus side O'Neill did feel a pulse. He supposed that last tackle hadn't done the kid any good. Grumbling, he rolled the kid onto his back and dragged him along by the collar of his robes. It seemed like forever (though crawling under enemy fire always seems to take forever) before he got to the tenuous cover of a large headstone a few feet to Teal'c's right.

"I am relived to see that you are not dead, General O'Neil," Teal'c said as he fired another shot into the crowd of goons, who needed to learn how to duck.

"It's a relief to see you are not dead Teal'c."

O'Neill bent over the kid and pulled off his mask. The boy's eyes were rolled back in his head and small trickles of blood ran from his nostrils. O'Neill felt the pulse in his neck. It was steady, but his skin was clammy and cold. _Starting to go into shock, wonderful._O'Neill pulled off his own barrowed robes and tossed them on top of the kid. He ducked as a huge blast of green light flew over his head.

"Sir?"

He looked up to see Carter scrambling toward him, weaving around headstones and under flashes of light. After inspecting him for a moment (probably to make sure he was free of alien parasites) she handed him a zat and an ear piece. He nodded in thanks, and shot a goon that appeared out of nowhere behind them.

"What are we dealing with sir?" Carter asked.

"Some kind of alien tech, I don't know the specifics: energy weapons, teleportation, the works. Oh, and there's a giant snake around here somewhere. We don't have the man power to take out their base. I think getting the hell out of here is the best plan."

"We've got transportation a half a kilometer south of here sir." She pulled out her radio and started organizing with the Special Forces guys.

"Check on the kid, will ya?"

"Sir, I think he's in shock," she said.

O'Neill bit back a comment and searched the graveyard for Greasy, eventually catching sight of him, crawling towards the ivy covered headstone that shielded Daniel. His robes were smoking slightly and it was clear he'd taken a hit in the leg. The enemy fire was focused most heavily on him. Daniel sent a questioning glance at him, and O'Neill made little waving motions, indicating that Greasy should be allowed through. _Watch him_, O'Neill signed before turning back to the fight.

"Where are we?" O'Neill asked.

"We are in Little Hangleton, General," Teal 'c answered.

"Which is where exactly?"

"I believe it is three miles west of Great Hangleton," Teal 'c answered, with a faintly amused expression, but he always had a faintly amused expression, so that wasn't saying much.

One of the Special Forces guys crawled over. Carter called him Cooper, and after a few seconds of arguing and arm waving, Cooper put the kid across his shoulders, and started down the hill, away from the fight. Another Special Forces Agent followed close behind them. When they were out of sight, Carter told Daniel and Greasy (she politely called him the civilian) to pull out next. That's when things started to go bad, again.

He supposed someone had finally pulled Gray Cloak out of the bath, or wherever the hell he'd been while they were breaking out of his little fortress. Gray Cloak focused on O'Neill immediately, and O'Neill stared right back into his horrible red gaze. A strange sensation came over him and the battle faded away. Everything faded away and he was weightless.

"Sir? What are you doing Sir?"

Carter's voice echoed through his fogged mind. He looked down at his hands and saw he was aiming the zat directly at her.

"What are you doing, Sir?"

"I'm going to shoot you," he answered vaguely.

That didn't sound like the right thing to say at all. He looked back at Carter, who turned her rifle on him. That also seemed rather off.

"Put your weapon down Sir. You've been compromised."

_Oh crap agai_n! He turned and fired off a shot at Gray Cloak. As the indigo light whizzed through the air the fog faded once more. The bolts of sizzling energy never reached their target. Gray Cloak merely held up a hand and the shots from the zat halted in midair. One of the Special Forces guys sent a hail of bullets after them, but those halted in midair as well. Gray Cloak waved a stick weapon in their direction. O'Neill couldn't suppress the feeling of horror that rose from some place deep inside him as the green light came at him. He huddled behind a tombstone and Carter did the same. On either side of his shelter the grass and weeds withered and died.

Daniel gave a rather incoherent call for help, and O'Neill whirled to see the giant snake was back. Greasy dove aside, barely avoiding the creature's first strike. Daniel got it between the eyes with two shots from the zat but the snake shook it off, lunging forward to sink its fangs into his boot. O'Neill started towards them.

A huge force caught him around the neck and he was lifted off his feet. He gave an undignified squawk as the ground got further and further away. He didn't want to speculate how things would have turned out had Teal'c not reached up and seized his ankle. O'Neill waved his arms, trying to dispel whatever was causing the unintentional levitation, but succeeded only in making himself look ridiculous. Floating in the air was not something he was all together apposed to, but in the middle of a fire fight it was not an activity he was eager to participate in. He looked down and saw Teal'c had grabbed the marble cross on top of a headstone to keep from going airborne as well. They'd become rather obvious targets, and only Carter's cover fire kept the cult members from landing a hit. Gray Cloak turned the stick weapon on them then.

"Get down!" O'Neill ordered, but Teal'c refused to let go of his foot.

A horrible shriek split the air and O'Neill's eyes went to the snake. It had released Daniel's boot and was whipping about like a loose fire-hose. Smoke rose from a rapidly expanding wound on its back, where a caustic substance was eating away at the flesh. He saw Greasy casually discard a small glass bottle, with a rather bored expression. In that same moment, Gray Cloak shrieked as well.

O'Neil fell from the air, and with Teal'c still grabbing his ankle he ended up landing on his head. The cult members seemed more then a little distracted by their master's shrieks.

"This seems as good a time as any to run like hell," O'Neill pointed out as Teal'c helped him up.

The engines of the Humvees were already rumbling as they charged out of the brush at the bottom of the hill. Special Forces had taken the good seats. Daniel shoved Greasy, who was limping badly, into the cab of the first vehicle, before climbing into the open tailgate with Cater. O'Neill and Teal'c leapt into the back of the second as it lurched into motion. They sped down the poorly paved road on the outskirts of Little Hangleton. A quick glance through the back window of the Humvee showed a field medic had already started work on the kid. O'Neill looked back at the brush they'd come from, his zat aimed, but the cult members seemed to have given up.

He barrowed Teal'c's radio.

"Carter?" he asked.

"I hear you sir."

"Thanks."

"No problem sir."

"O'Neill!" shouted Teal'c pointing into the sky behind them.

O'Neill rubbed his eyes, gawked, blinked, and rubbed them again.

"It appears that they are flying on broom sticks O'Neill," Teal'c said, for once looking uncertain of his own observation.

O'Neill could only nod as men in skull masks and wind-whipped robes soared towards them on primitive sweeping devices. A blast of red light came towards them, but it over shot. The first Humvee swerved around the crater it created in the road. Carter was nearly thrown from the open back of the Humvee, but Daniel lunged and caught the front of her vest. SG1 raised their zats, rifles, and staff weapons and returned fire.

O'Neill had to admit that the goons were much better at dodging in the air then they were on the ground. The constant evasive maneuvers the drivers were putting the Humvees through didn't help their aim much either. There was a muffled shout from Daniel as a near miss sent shrapnel raining down on him and Carter. As O'Neill hit one of the flying cult members and watched him slam into the side of a low hill they sped past, he wondered exactly what he'd been doped up with after capture.

"Sir!" Carter's voice buzzed in his ear piece.

He turned and looked at her. She pointed to the road ahead. Another group of robed figures on brooms sped towards them. Instead of black robes and skull masks, this group wore an odd assortment of blue robes, their intent faces exposed. Each had a bright orange feather tied somewhere on their person, most on the upper arm. A young woman with blue hair had attached one of the feathers to her head with a black cloth band, giving her the look of a very displaced 1920's flapper. For a moment he thought they'd be trapped between them, but the new group gained altitude and let the Humvees pass under. O'Neill looked up and the flapper gave him a funny little salute, before leaning forward on her broom, and soaring into the midst of the skull masked men. The others followed her, and blasts of brilliant light filled the early morning sky.

O'Neill stared at the battle-on-broomsticks until the Humvees turned down into a valley, hiding them from sight.

"Everyone else saw that too, right?" O'Neill asked as he slumped down in the back of the vehicle.


	4. Sometimes It's Hard to be Polite

**Crumpets Aren't My Style**

**By Marz**

**Sometimes It's Hard to be Polite**

O'Neill tried not to tap his pen on the table. He was already struggling to keep his feet planted on the floor and his chair from turning. He didn't think the Prime Minister's representative would notice if he went for a few spins, but the representatives from the U.K.'s assorted military establishments were watching him carefully, as was the egomaniac M15 sent. He was sorely tempted to flick the paper football he'd made from the meeting's itinerary at Teal'c. He tried to indicate that the Jaffa should hold up his index fingers to make goalposts, but was ignored. Daniel sat looking attentive and alert. Carter was the only member of SG1 lucky enough to escape the briefing. Apparently the lab they'd been granted the use of was having difficulties figuring out the stick weapons O'Neill had managed to snatch from assorted cult members.

The Prime Minister's lackey finally sat down after acknowledging everyone on the entire island and repeating the purpose of the meeting no less then eight times. He waved at O'Neill as if generously granting him permission to speak. O'Neill tried not to sigh as he stood.

"Everybody got a copy of the initial reports correct?" O'Neill asked, pushing down the urge to fiddle with all the shiny things on dress uniform.

"What was left of it," commented the agent from M15.

O'Neill struggled to remember his name; Halfpence, Shilling, Euro? It was some kind of money. He looked to Daniel, who mouthed "Farthing" at him as unobtrusively as possible.

"Well Agent Farthing, for reasons of national security, some parts of the report had to be censored."

Farthing held up his copy of the report, which was half obscured by thick black lines.

"We have all been cleared by the United Nations, and have been granted full disclosure in all matters concerning the Stargate program," Farthing insisted, waving the report.

O'Neill tried not to gag as the man wafted his excessive cologne towards their end of the table.

"Not everything the Air Force does involves the Stargate," O'Neill pointed out. The information in question actually did, but he needed more practice at almost-lying.

Farthing looked as if he planed to push the issue, but an Admiral, whose name O'Neill had completely forgotten, shushed him. "What can you tell us about these aliens, General?" the Admiral asked.

"To start with, they aren't aliens. The kid and the cult member were using some sort of alien technology, but the doctors who treated them insisted they were both human."

"In fact," Daniel put in, "blood samples taken from both…detainees was compared with those taken from random English citizens as part of a study conducted by Oxford University last year. Not only are the cult members natives of earth, but they are natives of England as well. The genetic analysis also shows the boy and the man are related, third cousins, twice removed, which may indicate the alien technology was passed down through family lines, after it fell into human hands. The fact that the boy referred to his group as 'wizards', may indicate an ancient point of integration into European culture. Legends of wizards and witches controlling mystical forces actually predate most culture's belief in omnipotent god figures, which were either created or adopted by the Go'auld. These 'wizards' could be-"

"Have you made any progress with their technology?" interrupted Farthing.

"Nope," said O'Neill. He wished Daniel had gone on a bit longer. "I've got Colonel Carter working on it at the moment. She's the foremost expert on alien tech." He gave himself a few points for saying "foremost".

"Have you made any progress interrogating the prisoners?" Farthing demanded.

"Neither seems particularly talkative. The kid was still unconscious as of the beginning of this briefing, and the adult hasn't spoken a word since he woke up. He was sedated during medical treatment and seems to be holding it against us. He won't even give a name. He just glares. Very creepy."

"What pressures have you applied?" Farthing asked, with imaginary quotes around the word "pressures".

O'Neill made a face. "We threatened to shut off the cable in his room, but so far he hasn't cracked. If that doesn't work there's always bed without dessert. Why? Do you have suggestions?"

"I was just wondering what method of interrogation was being used. As far as I know, your group is not experienced in that particular discipline."

"And your point is?" O'Neill asked, not trying to hide his annoyance.

"Your military record is of course outstanding General, but matters would proceed more efficiently if the prisoners were in the hands of people who knew what to do with them," Farthing concluded smoothly.

O'Neill did not respond politely.

The meeting quickly dissolved into an international pissing contest. O'Neill sorely wished he'd stopped at 7 Eleven for a Big-Gulp before it started. Even Daniel couldn't smooth things over.

Farthing said the American Air Force had no right to interfere and no right to carry out police actions on British soil. O'Neill pointed out that the cult members had attacked him. Farthing insisted the prisoners be turned over to British authorities, since they had been proved, as Dr. Jackson pointed out, to be natives of England and not of some foreign planet. O'Neill said their alien technology put them under SGC jurisdiction. Farthing said to keep the technology and turn over the people. O'Neill said it's not going to happen. Farthing demanded an interview with the prisoners at M15 headquarters. O'Neill said the prisoners were being held in the U.S. embassy, and weren't going anywhere. Farthing made a derogatory comment about the U.S. Air Force. O'Neill made a derogatory comment about Farthing's mother.

"It could've gone worse," O'Neill said as the limo peeled out of the lot.

"How Jack?" asked Daniel, rubbing at the bridge of his nose with one hand and holding his glasses in the other.

"They could have thrown things at us?" O'Neill ventured.

"I believe there was an ulterior purpose to this meeting," Teal'c said solemnly.

O'Neill and Daniel both looked at him curiously. The driver was politely ignoring them, but O'Neill raised the divider anyway.

"The Prime Minister's aide seemed to have prior knowledge of the existence of the group, as did Agent Farthing. He reacted noticeably to the word "wizard" and seemed unusually guarded, as if he were under close observation. I became aware of an unseen presence in the room, but could not locate it definitely."

O'Neill had not noticed any of that, but nodded all the same, as Teal'c was usually right.

"Not just a hidden camera?" asked Daniel.

Teal'c nodded.

"They did seem unusually eager to get their hands on the prisoners," Daniel said. "Is it possible the British government has been compromised, or at least significant portions of it?"

"That would be most unfortunate," Teal'c said. "We could in that case be entirely surrounded by the enemy."

"Before we go announcing that the Queen's been abducted by aliens," O'Neill interrupted. "Maybe we should figure out whether anyone besides the Prime Minister's aide and Farthing are involved. Until then we'll keep an eye out for invisible people. Alright?"

They both nodded.

"Great," O'Neill mumbled. He pulled out the cell phone the embassy had provided him with. After a few minutes of cursing and button pushing and being forwarded, he got Agent Miller, from the NSA, the head of embassy security, on the line. It took several minutes of arguing and grand standing but O'Neill finally convinced the man that they needed to supply all security officers and guards with infrared detectors, without explaining exactly why.

They discussed the possible origins of the alien technology, or more accurately Daniel and Teal'c discussed possible origins. O'Neill interrupted them every few minutes with a sarcastic comment, but couldn't think of much productive to add. He hoped they were only dealing with another version of Seth. The cult that Go'auld had been running was hard enough to break up in the United States. He was already having nightmares about the paper work necessary to break into an armed compound on British soil, but it was better then having to worry about huge governmental conspiracies. Maybe it wasn't going to be so bad. They'd only found the one group after all.

Not that there weren't already other problems in that area. The enemy compound outside Little Hangleton seemed to have vanished from the face of the earth. Carter had managed to follow O'Neill to the compound using infrared satellite images and some kind of special Geiger-counter to track radiation from the zat. He'd asked her if it was bad radiation, since he'd carried the zat in the waist band of his pants for a considerable length of time. Her response had been very technical and confusing and not a clear yes or no.

He rubbed his eyes and then stretched. There was a lot of room to stretch in. The embassy had insisted they take the limo though O'Neill had wanted a cab. He was glad they convinced him. The windows of the limousine were reflective so no one outside could see in. He found it more then a little amusing to watch the people they passed on the crowded streets, and even those in the cars pinned on either side of them by the constant near gridlock traffic, try to peer in, squinting for all they were worth. He wondered what would happen if he rolled down the window and offered autographs.

They rolled to a stop at another red light, and some darting motion caught the corner of O'Neill's eye. He'd have sworn the stoup of the opposing flat was empty the previous instant, but now it was occupied by a man reading a paper. O'Neill might have been able to ignore it if…no he wouldn't have. Too many strange things had happened in the past two days.

He wasn't exactly an expert on London fashion, but he was fairly certain bowler hats had gone out of style shortly after Charles Dickens died. He watched the man, whose newspaper obscured his face. He could clearly see the man's mangled scarred hands supporting the document, and the lower half of his old fashion suit. The man had a wooden prosthetic foot with clawed toes. O'Neill pointed and both Daniel and Teal'c leaned over to peer out the window with him. Even with the paper in the way, O'Neill felt as if the man was watching him. The light changed and the limo crawled forward. An instant later the man with the paper disappeared from view.

"Did that freak anybody else out?" O'Neill asked, rubbing at the back of his neck in an attempt to get his hair to lie flat again.

"Something was definitely off," Daniel conceded.

The rest of the trip they spent looking out the windows. Several other odd people caught their attention, but none of them gave off the same disturbing aura of focus as the man with the newspaper did. Things seemed almost normal again until they pulled up to the embassy gates.

"Are not those nocturnal birds?" Teal'c asked, leaning against the window.

O'Neill just nodded. The entire gate and the fence on either side was covered in owls. As the driver sent in the security code the gates rolled open and hundreds of startled birds took flight. Hooting echoed around the vehicle and Daniel winced as there was a splattering sound on the roof and windshield. The driver stopped just inside the gate so the limo could be searched, but the guards seemed reluctant to leave their shed and pass under the flock of disgruntled owls. The day only got longer from there.

O'Neill stepped out of the elevator and was immediately confronted by Doctor Gaster, the Embassy's head physician. The doctor's flabby face and shaved head seemed almost to glow in the flickering blue-tinted fluorescent light. The sun had set over six hours ago, but the General had yet to even contemplate sleep.

"He's awake?" O'Neill asked, covering his mouth with his hand as a yawn followed the question.

The doctor nodded. "He's completely uncooperative. Honestly! I liked him better when he was unconscious. He threw a bed pan at me just after I called you."

"Any particular reason?" O'Neill asked, trying not to look amused.

"We aren't letting him walk around until his legs and back are more fully healed. A trip to the bathroom is out of the question, but he apparently found the bed pan a distasteful solution," Gaster said.

"Aside from temper-tantrums, how is he?" O'Neill asked.

"His blood pressure is still low, and he suffers from intermittent muscle tremors, which we haven't found the cause of as yet. He's responding well to antibiotics, so he should stay free of infection. The cranial x-rays you asked for showed nothing abnormal. The only thing we're having trouble with is the skull and snake carved into his chest."

"Snake?" O'Neill asked. He hadn't noticed that before.

"It's coming out of the skull's mouth, like a tongue. Whatever it is I've got no idea how it got there. It's not a tattoo, it isn't carved in. As far as I can tell it isn't a burn of any kind. Whatever the source of the tissue damage, the mark still oozes blood every once in a while. Scabs won't form, even though his platelet count is high. I can't explain it."

"Anything else?" O'Neill prompted as the doctor became lost in thought.

"He hasn't eaten well lately, probably not for the past three weeks. We started an I.V. so that shouldn't pose too many other problems. Where'd you find him?" the doctor asked.

"Classified," O'Neill said. "As is everything he says, no matter how weird, got that?"

The doctor nodded. "See if you can get him to fill out the patient questionnaire at least."

"I'll do my best," O'Neill said.

The doctor directed him to room 423. O'Neill nodded to the guards on either side of the door, and knocked.

"Go 'way," a voice said weakly.

O'Neill pushed through the door. The hospital smell was almost overwhelming. The kid lay on his side, since his back and chest were both too injured to put weight on. He had dark circles under his eyes and his face was disturbingly pale. The I.V. and the wires connecting him to the monitors were stretched across his shoulders and his light blue hospital blanket. He seemed to be tied down by them. He didn't look up as O'Neill entered.

"Hey," O'Neill said, settling into the creaky plastic visitor's chair.

Apparently recognizing his voice, the kid raised his head and gave a small, pained smile.

"Hi," the kid said. His voice was dry and slightly crackly.

"Do you want some water?" O'Neill asked.

The kid nodded, and O'Neill handed him the pink plastic cup from the bedside table. It exactly matched the pink plastic pitcher and the pink plastic barf bowl. The kid half way sat up and emptied the cup in one prolonged gulp. O'Neill could hear the bandages crackle as the kid moved. The kid's entire torso was coated in disinfectant, gauze, and tape.

"More?" O'Neill asked.

The kid nodded.

"You know you can hit the call button if you need something," O'Neill said as he refilled the cup and returned it. He leaned past the kid and picked up the call button which lay on the other side of the bed, completely ignored. "It's a great button really. You just press it and a nurse comes running, then you can demand magazines and Jello and a foot massage."

The kid snorted into his water.

"You can demand a foot massage?"

O'Neill nodded. "They probably won't give you one, but you can demand it."

The kid smiled faintly again. "Where am I?"

"The U.S. embassy hospital," O'Neill replied.

"How'd I get here?" he asked.

"What's the last thing you remember?" O'Neill asked.

The kid's mouth opened and he started to say something but cut himself off. He gave O'Neill a long look, and then turned his attention to the hospital room around him. It was an interior room, with no windows. He took another sip of water.

"I was in London. I think somebody shot me in the back. I remember crawling into a dumpster, and then somebody grabbing me. After that it's a blur," he said finally.

"Really?" O'Neill said, sounding not at all convinced.

The kid nodded, trying to maintain eye-contact, and squinting a lot. They were still trying to scrounge up some glasses for him.

"So you don't remember the giant snake?" O'Neill asked.

The kid shook his head. He looked very guilty.

"You don't remember the crazy woman in the skull mask, or the tall jerk with the red eyes?"

The kid shook his head again but he clenched his jaw and fists as well. O'Neill could tell the boy was lying, but he dropped the topic for the moment.

"So," O'Neill said, "Where're you from?"

"Little Whinging," the kid said sullenly.

It sounded a little too English to be another planet, but you could always hope for simplicity, couldn't you?

"Where's that?" O'Neill asked.

"Surrey."

"Dang," O'Neill muttered. "Do you have parent's we should be calling or something?"

The kid gave him a slightly puzzled look, before frowning again. "My parent's are dead. I live with my aunt and uncle. It would really be better if we didn't call them though. They'd be rather upset."

"About what?" O'Neill asked, slightly afraid that he was about to step into a steaming pile of issues.

"About anything that involves me. I don't exactly have their phone number either. They changed it to keep my friends from calling their house. I don't have the new one."

"If we had names and addresses we could track them down."

"Oh, alright I guess. The address is 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. You're looking for Petunia and Vernon Dursley."

"Vernon and Petunia Dursley, right, so that would make you…?"

"Harry Potter," the kid said, almost grimacing.

Not quite sure how to react, O'Neill held out his hand. "I'm Jack O'Neill, nice to meet you."

The kid shook it weakly. "Nice to meet you too, sir."

"Thanks for saving my life on Friday, by the way," O'Neill said.

"Er…you're welcome," the kid said looking away in embarrassment. "Like wise I suppose."

"So you do remember me?" O'Neill pointed out smugly.

The kid made a face. O'Neill scooted his chair a little closer to the bed. "What's really going on here kid?"

"I…I can't tell you," he said rather nervously.

"Why not?"

"I'm not allowed."

"Who's gonna' stop you?" O'Neill asked curiously.

"I'll stop me," the kid said.

"I'll find out eventually," O'Neill said. "This is important. Millions of lives could be at stake. I understand if you're worried, after what happened to you, but we can protect you."

The kid's hands were starting to shake. "You don't understand. When they find out I told you, they'll come after you."

"How are 'They' going to know?"

"They always know," the kid said. "They'll probably come anyway, just because I was here, but if I don't say anything then they won't know that you know anything, because you won't, so they'll leave you alone, because you don't know…" As he spoke he sank back against his pillows, his eyelids drooping.

"So what will they do if they know that I know something?" O'Neill asked the kid, who was rapidly departing from consciousness.

"You won't remember, that's all. But if you don't remember…"

"What'll happen if I don't remember?"

"He'll come after you anyway. Voldemort never lets anybody go," the kid mumbled a moment before his eyes closed for good. "You have to remember to run."

"Who's Voldemort?" O'Neill asked.

The only response was soft snoring.

O'Neill was busy scalding himself with coffee when the call came in. He'd had a whole four hours of sleep though, so his mood, to start out with, was much improved. By the end of the conversation with the Secretary of State however, it was back in its dark place. Farthing had pulled some strings and convinced a few key higher ups that he could succeed where SG1 had not. He was coming to the embassy at noon to interview Greasy and the kid.

A moment after he hung up there was a knock at the door of his temporary office. Without waiting for a response Daniel poked his head threw the door, then came in all the way. O'Neill wasn't sure why he even bothered to knock.

"I just got off the phone with Vernon Dursley," Daniel said with the airs of a martyred saint.

"And?"

"It took me twenty minutes to get him to admit that he even had a nephew named Harry Potter. When I asked him if he knew something unusual was going on with his nephew, he called me a freak, threatened to call the police on me and then hung up. I called him back. After another twenty minutes of incoherent threats and denials, I asked him when he saw his nephew last, and told him that he was in the custody of the United States Air Force. Dursley asked if the kid had been flying."

"Flying?" O'Neill asked with interest.

"I said 'no, does he have a pilot's license.' Dursley said he did not, and tried to change the subject. He claimed the kid was trouble maker, and that he only took the boy in because there was nowhere else to put him after his parents were killed in a drunken car crash. I asked him if had reported his nephew missing. He said no. I asked him why and he told me the kid is always running off to his friends' houses. After another twenty minutes of ranting about the boy's trouble making friends he finally asked what he'd been arrested for. I told him his nephew had been abducted by a cult and later rescued in a raid. He hung up and no one has answered the phone since."

O'Neill was trying to decide whether or not he should assign somebody to tail the Dursleys when there was another knock on the door. Colonel Carter came in without waiting for an answer either. She had some of the confiscated stick weapons with her, in sealed evidence bags. She passed them over.

O'Neill raised a questioning eyebrow.

"They're just wood, sir," Carter said. She looked slightly frustrated. "We spent the entire night running tests, but as far as we can tell, they're just carved wood. We bisected one and found a strand of horse hair inside, but other then that there was nothing unusual about them. They don't emit any sort of radiation. They don't conduct electricity. They don't seem to have any unique properties to differentiate them from a piece of wood you'd find lying around in a park. They aren't even off world species. They're maple, yew, redwood, and oak," she finished, rubbing at her eyes.

"But everyone else saw the guys in skull masks using them to shoot blasts of energy at us right?" O'Neill asked.

Daniel nodded. Carter shrugged. Teal'c burst through the door without bothering to knock at all.

"I believe an intruder had entered the embassy," he announced.

They stood in the cramped security office, squinting at the tiny image on the monitor. The infrared perimeter cameras had captured the image of someone appearing suddenly in the center of the embassy lawn. In one frame the lawn was empty, in the next a figure stood regally on the recently mowed grass. The yellow and red figure crossed the lawn and disappeared behind the cold black-purple of a shed. The visual systems hadn't registered a thing.

Security teams had swept the area, but found nothing. Later Teal'c found a trail of footprints in the grass, and determined that the intruder was an older woman, with a slight limp. The foot prints had stopped behind the shed as well. They were fairly certain the invisible woman hadn't entered any secure buildings, since no motion sensors had been set off. They put a few more guards around the kid and Greasy, just incase. When that situation had been dealt with to the best of his ability, O'Neill went to the dinning hall, for a pleasant 45 seconds of lunch. His cell phone rang.

"Sir, Agent Farthing has arrived for his interview," the receptionist said cheerfully.

"I'll be right there, thanks." He hung up, choked down three quick bites of his sandwich, and jogged out of the hall, towards the elevators. He got all of three steps before he tripped over the cat. The tabby let out a pained yowl and streaked up the hallway, and around the corner. He groaned and got to his feet. He was pretty sure pets were not allowed in that building. With another groan he resumed his journey to the front gates.


	5. The Cat

**Author's note:** Many thanks to spoonercat for the SG1 info!

**Crumpets Aren't My Style**

**By Marz**

**The Cat**

O'Neill was still grumbling about cats when he got to the front gate, where Farthing's car was being searched. There were fewer owls that morning, but the two dozen that remained made up for it by being much louder then the day before. The insignificant matter of strange animals was quickly pushed from his mind however, as he saw the BMW and his eyes drifted to the license plate.

"This is hardly necessary," Farthing said very loudly to O'Neill as he approached the car.

"Every vehicle entering the embassy has to be searched," O'Neill said, as an evil but just idea formed.

One of the guards walked over and politely asked Farthing to open the trunk of his car. Farthing grumbled but complied. O'Neill peered into the trunk with them. He wondered what kind of lunatic had the trunk of his car upholstered in leather.

"What's that?" O'Neill asked pointing at a slightly lumpy spot in the leather.

The guard, whose name tag declared him to be Collins, and Farthing looked on with him.

"It's just a little snag in the leather," Farthing answered.

"It looks like there could be something under there," O'Neill said, trying to sound extra suspicious.

"It's nothing!" Farthing declared.

"It looks like something to me," O'Neill said.

Collins pulled a knife from his belt and slit the upholstery open. Farthing gasped as if it were his own skin that had just been sliced. Collins very carefully pried the slit open. There was nothing beneath it. Farthing glared. O'Neill shrugged.

"Does the back seat lift up?" Collins asked, opening the side door of the BMW.

"No it doesn't!" Farthing nearly growled.

O'Neill went around to the other side of the car and opened the door. He tapped on the paneling under the seat.

"It sounds hollow," O'Neill pointed out.

Farthing was glowering silently as they boarded the elevator, but he had given up complaining about the molestation of his precious car when O'Neill mentioned in passing that red lights meant stop, and nearly running over someone in a crosswalk was incredibly impolite, especially when the person nearly flattened catches the plate number. O'Neill assured Farthing that after the appropriate forms were filed and processed, he would be compensated for the damage to his car.

Two guards checked their security passes as they stepped out. The subbasement was lit with fluorescent strip-lights, and the air was re-circulated and pleasantly cool. It reminded O'Neill of the SGC a bit. Agent Farthing looked up at the ceiling as if worried it would collapse. O'Neill tried not to smirk. They came to room 5 and one of the four guards opened the door after giving the General a salute.

Greasy sat at the unadorned card table with a newspaper spread before him. The only other furniture in the room was the bed. Greasy didn't bother to look at them as they came in. He turned to the next page of the paper, and then looked disdainfully at his long pale fingers as the newsprint rubbed off on them. O'Neill gave a little wave to the security camera in the corner. Teal'c was watching them from the security office.

Farthing tried to give the prisoner a scathing look, but was ignored. O'Neill slouched into the chair across the table from him. Greasy still refused to acknowledge his presence. Farthing stalked around the table as if he thought his circling would some how add to his menace. O'Neill wanted to smack him upside the head.

"I am a representative of the government of the United Kingdom, and I am here under the authority of the Prime Minister. I demand you identify yourself, and disclose all you know about the group that accosted General O'Neill and Harry Potter from London on the 14th of July," Farthing said.

Greasy raised a disdainful eyebrow, but did not look up from his paper.

"Are you being compelled not to speak?" Farthing pressed. "Is someone here threatening you?" he continued, glancing at O'Neill.

The General rolled his eyes. Greasy continued to ignore them. Farthing began to pace the small room, spreading the stench of his excessive cologne into every square inch of air space._ I shouldn't gag in front of the prisoner_, O'Neill thought, _it's a sign of weakness._ Farthing continued to pace, apparently out of questions. _Time to take over I guess._

"Nice threads," O'Neill said to Greasy after several long boring moments.

The prisoner finally looked up at him through a curtain of unwashed hair.

"It's not my color," Greasy said, tugging on the short sleeve of the orange jumpsuit the embassy had so kindly provided him with, after he woke up undressed in a hospital bed. His right hand released the cloth and went to cover the skull and snake tattoo on his left forearm. O'Neill couldn't tell if he was conscious of the action or not. He'd also bet a year's pay that the mark on Greasy's arm would exactly match the one on the kid's chest, once the bandages were removed.

"What are we supposed to call you?" O'Neill asked. He tipped his chair back on two legs and rested his feet on the edge of the table. "You could just make something up you know. Because if you don't we will, and there's nothing flattering in the suggestion box."

Greasy scowled. "You may call me Mr. Smith if a title is necessary."

"Right," said O'Neill, putting his feet back on the floor, as looking so casual was starting to give him lower back pain.

"So," O'Neill continued, "Which ego maniacal evil over lord do you work for? The kid mentioned somebody named Voldemort."

As O'Neill said "Voldemort" the corner of Greasy's eye twitched. A nervous tick definitely meant something was up. If the name made Greasy squirrelly then it was obviously the button to push.

"Is that right, Voldemort?" he asked.

Tick!

"Kind of a strange name, Voldemort," O'Neill drawled on.

Tick!

"Doesn't sound English. Maybe it's German, or Dutch. Does Voldemort,"

Tick!

"Sound Dutch to you?" O'Neill asked Farthing.

Farthing shrugged. He was starting to look as freaked out as Greasy did.

"I wonder how you spell that? Voldemort…do you think it's with an 'a' or an 'e'? Vold-e-mort? Vold-a-mort?"

Greasy's eye was twitching so much O'Neill doubted he could even see out of his right eye.

"Vol-"

"SILENCE FOOL!" Greasy declared so loudly the walls echoed for several seconds afterwards.

"Why shouldn't I say Vol-"

"He must not be named!" Greasy hissed.

O'Neill looked at him more carefully and realized the man had clamped his hand down on top of his tattoo so tightly his left arm was starting to swell up. Greasy glared at him, but O'Neill matched his stare.

"Why shouldn't I say…"

O'Neill couldn't finish his sentence. He couldn't look away from Greasy's black glittering eyes. His mind felt filled with worms. He couldn't blink. The room and the staring prisoner disappeared. He saw the men in robes and skull masks flying overhead on brooms. The image was instantly replaces by the kid, kneeling in the alley, using a stick weapon to shoot a spark at he wall. O'Neill's hands gripped the edge of the table but he couldn't seem to find his voice. The Nox city faded into being above his head. Hathor held a Go'auld towards him. Her unnatural voice echoed in his head.

_"The first thing you shall do when you wake is kill your friends."_

He stood before the Gate, blue light washing over him.

O'Neill finally managed to make an inarticulate grunt. In the distance he heard Farthing speak.

"Are you alright, General?"

"Grrrrk! No!" he growled through clenched teeth.

He pushed at the edge of the table but could not turn his head away.

Thor was leaning over him, assuring him he was not going to die. Ba'al released the blade and it sailed towards him. The sound as it bored into his chest echoed in his ears. He felt his heart shudder as it struggled to work around the metal. Something struck him.

It took him several seconds to figure out what was reality and what was only in his mind. He was lying on the floor. Teal'c was standing over him asking if he was injured. He looked to the side and saw four guards were kneeling on Greasy, and twisting his arms up behind his back. Farthing was on the far side of the room, being useless.

"Are you injured O'Neill?" Teal'c asked, definitely real that time.

"Feels like my head's in a blender," he grumbled as the larger man helped him to his feet. He immediately began to tip over. Teal'c held him upright by the collar of his shirt.

"You will consult with Doctor Gaster," Teal'c stated.

"I'm fine…" O'Neill started to say, but the Jaffa had already began to pull him along, "But I'll check in with the doc anyway."

* * *

"It looks like a bucket, Carter."

"To be honest sir, it's the best we could come up with in-"

"I'm not complaining," O'Neill said, as he readjusted the cold pack on his aching head, "I was just saying that it looked like a bucket."

"Well that's all it is really," Carter said.

She picked up the combination helmet and goggles again and turned it over in her hands. She fiddled with the chinstrap.

"We've never run into a true telepath before. All the alien cultures that have something similar depend on a direct interface with the brain, organic or technological. We searched Smith very thoroughly and found nothing. I suspected it might just be some sort of hallucinogen but again, we couldn't find even a trace. Dr. Gaster doesn't have anywhere near the resources of the SGC but he was able to pick out some irregularities in your alpha waves. The only thing I can really think to do is to try to prevent whatever signal Smith is generating that caused the disruption. This is all assuming the signal would originate in his brain…"

"It's fine Carter. Go put that thing on him," O'Neill said.

She nodded, and turned to leave.

"Make sure you take lots of pictures," he called after her.

Farthing was waiting for him. They started down the hall with Teal'c shadowing. Farthing immediately started to complain.

"I don't see why I am not allowed to speak to the prisoners unsupervised," Farthing said.

O'Neill knew he was frustrated. The kid was only a few rooms down from the room O'Neill was being examined in but Farthing had not been allowed to take those twenty additional steps on his own. O'Neill was about to make a comment about if he didn't see why, he shouldn't be going in at all, but he was prevented from speaking. He bit his tongue. He bit his tongue because he was once again tripping over a cat.

The animal yowled and streaked off down the hall. O'Neill tried to instruct the guards to grab it, but couldn't seem to produce any consonants. Dr. Gaster came out of the kid's room to see what all the noise was. The cat darted in. The guards rushed after it. It took O'Neill longer then it should have to force his way into the now very crowded room.

The kid had wrapped his arms around the cat and was sort of curled up around it, making it impossible for the guards to apprehend the animal. The tabby cat was gazing at them imperiously from beneath the kid's chin. It looked very offended.

"Wass gowin on hew?" O'Neill asked loudly.

The guards looked at him, more then a little concerned.

"I bid my tugn," he explained, glaring at the cat. "Wade out side," he told them.

"Give me the cat!" Dr. Gaster commanded.

"She's mine!" declared the kid stubbornly.

"Just because the cat jumped in your lap doesn't mean it's yours!" Farthing said, as if the kid were slow and slightly deaf.

"I know that," the kid drawled, sounding every bit a teenager getting ready to rage against something. "She's mine from before. I recognized her. See? Look at her eyes, see the weird pattern. This is my cat. She ran away from my aunt's house last year when I was at school. Well actually my aunt said she was hit by a car, but here she is so I guess that wasn't true."

"You really expect us to believe that?" Dr. Gaster said.

"Believe it or not. It's true. I wonder how she got in here?" the kid said.

"So do I," O'Neill said, enunciating carefully. "I've been twipping over it all day."

"Miracle or not you can't keep that animal in here. It's not sanitary," Dr. Gaster said.

An idea struck O'Neill upside his already aching head.

"How about dis?" O'Neill said. "We'll have the cat checked out by a vet. You can have it back when we're sure it's safe."

Dr. Gaster looked ready to object again, but O'Neill silenced him with a look.

"So you're only going to take her the vet, then bring her right back?" the kid asked.

O'Neill nodded.

"And the vet will just…er…"

"What is it?" Farthing demanded.

Harry put his hands over the cat's ears.

"It's just…well…er…" the kid didn't seem to know how to start.

"Is there something the vet needs to know about your cat?" O'Neill prompted.

The kid nodded. "It's only a check up right? You aren't going to try to do any…any unnecessary surgery…because…er…"

He tightened his hands over the cat's ears.

"You're not going to try to…er…prevent future kittens are you?" he whispered.

The cat let out an offended yowl, and looked around with great concern. Either the kid's attempt to shield the cat from such an awful possibility had failed, or the cat didn't like having its head crushed. O'Neill thought the latter was more likely.

"The vet won't do anything but a quick exam for parasites and vaccines, alright?" O'Neill said.

"She doesn't like shots," the kid said.

"Neither do I, but the doc's not going to let the cat stay in here unless he's sure it's safe."

The cat looked up at the kid and mewed softly.

"How long will it take?" the kid asked.

"A couple of hours at most. We have to call in a vet."

"And you swear you'll bring her right back?"

O'Neill nodded.

"I should go with her," the kid said and made as if to stand.

"You should stay in bed. We'll bring her right back after she's checked."

"She'll…she'll be scared if she's with strangers."

O'Neill sighed. He never understood cat people. He leaned down to take the cat from the boy.

"She won't be with strangers. I'll--"

The cat hissed and swiped at him with its claws.

"—Murray, will escort her to the vet. He has a way with cats."

Teal'c's eyebrow disappeared up under the baseball cap he wore. O'Neill shrugged, and waved him toward the hissing, spitting animal. Teal'c stepped to the side of the bed. The cat hissed again. Undaunted Teal'c's arm darted out and a moment later the cat was cradled against him massive chest. He smoothed down the cat's aggravated fur, and after a few seconds of soothing the animal let out a deep contented purr. The kid's mouth dropped open slightly, and then he let out a very startled laugh. The cat stiffened suddenly and tried to wiggle out of Teal'c's grasp, but the Jaffa rubbed it behind the ears and it slumped boneless in his arms, purring again.

_All cat people are nuts_, O'Neill thought watching the kid. "Anyway, Murray will take the cat to the vet and have her back in a few hours. Alright?"

The kid nodded, biting his lip to keep from laughing.

O'Neill and Farthing spent another half hour with the kid after Teal'c and the cat departed, trying to get him to talk a bit about where he was from, but the kid either changed the subject, or talked about the public school he used to attend with his cousin. Strangely enough Farthing seemed not at all bothered by the kid's evasions. Farthing left the embassy as quickly as security would allow after the interview concluded.

O'Neill decided to catch up on paper work, but ended up taking a nap at his desk. Whatever Greasy had done to his brain that afternoon had left him feeling exhausted. He'd been asleep for no more than an hour when the phone rang.

"What?" he groaned.

"Sir, you'd better come see this," Carter's voice buzzed in his ear.

"Is it more owls?"

"No sir, it's the cat."

"The cat?"

"The boy's talking to it…"

"And?"

"It seems to be answering."

By the time he got to the security office the events of interest had concluded, but Carter had recorded them. She called up the images on the computer monitor, selected the room and time frame, and hit play.

The image was slightly grainy, but the sound was crystal clear. Teal'c entered the room. The kid said hello to him, and thanked him politely for escorting the cat to the vet. Teal'c set the cat on the end of the bed, gave the kid a little bow, and left.

"That wasn't so bad, was it Professor?" Harry asked.

The cat huffed and let out a quiet yowl. The kid turned his face away and blushed furiously.

"S-s-sorry Professor. I didn't think about that. They had to check if you had a fever I suppose."

"Mew. Meow-row!"

"Hang on for one second." Harry said.

Very slowly and stiffly he crawled out of the hospital bed. His leg was still dragging from where he'd been shot with an energy weapon and his breath came out in short pained gasps. He pulled his I.V. along on its rack, taking tiny steps. He disappeared from view for a moment then reappeared directly in front of the screen, apparently standing on a chair. There was a popping sound as he pulled the plug on the security camera. What the kid didn't know was that the camera had a back up battery. He climbed off the chair and got back into bed, tugging the I.V. with him.

"Meeeeer row?" the cat asked.

"They could be watching with the camera. They'll probably come down in a few minutes to plug it back in so we have to talk fast. Did you see Snape yet? I think he's in this building somewhere."

"Meow mew mew."

"Really? Over his entire head?"

"Mew!"

"Alright! Sorry. When can you get me out of here?"

"Mrow. Meow mew."

"But didn't you bring a portkey? If you could get Snape a wand he could just disapparate."

"Meow meow! Mew mew mew mew!"

"I know about the Statute! I didn't end up here on purpose. Voldemort tricked my aunt into bringing me into London. They sent the Dursleys some fake tax audit stuff that said they had to prove I existed because I haven't been going to the school I was registered for. I didn't think Voldemort understood muggle bureaucracy that well, but…When we arrived at the office in London, the auditors said they'd never heard of us. We were walking back to the car and…I'm not really certain what happened. I got lost somehow. It wasn't more they a few blocks from the office to where we were parked, but I couldn't find the car, and then I couldn't find my aunt. I never even felt whatever spell it was that hit me, a confundus charm maybe. Where was my guard anyway? I thought someone from the Order was always supposed to be watching me?"

"Mew meow mrow mew."

"Oh. That makes sense. But why can't we just disappear? They don't know anything about us. I heard the guards talking. They think we're aliens or some such thing."

"Mew mew mew mew mew."

"We can't do that!" the kid exclaimed. "They got in Voldemort's way. He'll come after them. He won't care if they don't remember! That's…that's as bad as killing them ourselves!"

"MEOW!"

"I am not being hysterical! They saved my life! Snape didn't even know I was there! Mr. O'Neill saved me from them, and I owe him a wizard's debt. If…if the Ministry erases their memory I'll have to stay here and protect them."

"Mew mew. Mew meow meow mew meow mew-"

"Professor please stop! I don't need another lecture. I-I…I told him I couldn't do this. I told him. They'll all die. I can't do this."

The kid's voice started to break and he put his face in his hands. The cat walked up the bed and gave him a little head-butt in the arm.

"Mew mew mew?"

"He…he…he put the mark on me."

The cat yowled, and turned to look at his left forearm. The kid shook his head and put his hand to his bandaged chest.

"Mew meow mrow mew."

The kid nodded and swallowed loudly.

"Mew mew meow."

His hands went to the metal collar around the cat's neck. He felt along it for a catch or buckle but of course he didn't find one.

Carter had made the collar while the cat was being examined. O'Neill's theory was that if the kid managed to sneak off, he'd take the cat with him. The tracking device embedded in the collar wasn't obvious, but if they took it off the cat, it would be a wasted effort. The metal collar used just a smidgen of Tok'ra technology. It required either an electromagnetic key, or a very large set of bolt cutters to be removed.

The kid tried to slide the collar over the cat's head, but only managed to pull out some fur and cause the creature great discomfort.

"Mew!"

"I can't get it off!" the boy said desperately.

"Mroooow!"

"What do you me you can't transform with it on?"

"Mew mew meow!"

"No I don't want you to strangle to death! Can't you just…"

"Meow! Meow!"

"I do pay attention in class! I'll have to find some scissor or something."

The kid started to get out of bed again but the cat meowed at him and he stopped.

"But we don't have much time!"

"Mew."

"I'm not tired. I've been in bed all day."

"Mew, mew."

"It's not primitive. They just don't have magic."

"Meow mew mrow mew."

The kid settled back in his hospital bed.

"Fine, first thing in the morning. You shouldn't be so hard on them Professor. They're good people."

"Mew meow meow," the cat said, as it settled down against the kid's left shoulder.

"That's can't be true, Professor." The kid turned toward the cat and smiled. "You seemed to like Murray well enough."

The cat glared at him, and the kid fell asleep with unlikely speed.

"Well that was odd," O'Neill said and the clip ended.

"There's more, sir," said Carter.

"Isn't there always?" sighed O'Neill.

"The vet's report on the cat came back. At first they thought the sample was contaminated, but…see for yourself sir."

She handed him a pile of papers. He handed them right back.

"The cat isn't a cat sir," she explained.

"What?"

"It's very strange. Physiologically it is a cat. The fur, the skeleton, and the muscle structure are entirely consistent, but the blood tests were way off, and when a tissue sample was examined under a microscope, they found the wrong number of chromosomes, 46 chromosomes sir."

"Fascinating," O'Neil said monotonously.

Undeterred by his lack of enthusiasm she continued. "They sequenced its DNA. Guess what they found!"

"A hairball?"

"The cat has human DNA sir. It isn't really a cat at all. The tissues are all the correct shapes and sizes, but the creature doesn't have the genes to make them. According to the analysis, the cat should be a human female. A study of the telomeres in the dividing cells indicate her age to be about seventy."

O'Neill sighed again, and leaned against the wall of the security office.

"I don't know if this can get any weirder," he said.

He glanced at the screens showing the sources of his most resent headaches. Greasy was sitting at the card table in his room, looking miserable with a bucket-like helmet and dark goggles strapped to his head. The kid was sleeping with the cat who should be a little old lady curled up next to him. He was about to ask Carter if she'd had any luck with the magic wands when sudden motion on both monitors caught his attention.

Greasy was on his feet, backing into the corner of his room. He'd knocked over his chair but didn't seem to notice. His right hand was clenching the tattoo on his left forearm.

The kid was sitting bolt upright in bed. His arms were crossed over his chest. The cat was standing on his lap mewling desperately.

In the same instant, both prisoners screamed.


	6. Change of Venue

**Author's Note:** Sorry the update took so long. My computer was rather crashed. Thanks everybody who reviewed, but please cut down on the profanity. Also there are a few spoilers for season eight. Be warned.

**Crumpets Aren't My Style**

**By Marz**

**Changing the Venue**

The situation had not improved in the three minutes it took O'Neill to run from the security office to the medical center on the fourth floor. If the screaming was any indication, things had gotten worse. The kid was thrashing and kicking despite two rather burley Marines doing their best to hold him down. Dr. Gaster growled in frustration, trying to hold the kid's arm with one hand and give him an injection with the other. O'Neill rushed in to add weight to the dog pile. It seemed to take hours for Gaster to find a vein and stick the needle in. Whatever the clear liquid in the syringe was, it didn't seem to be helping.

Though most of his attention was focused on keeping the kid's left arm and shoulder pinned, O'Neill couldn't help but notice the damage the kid had done to himself in the few minutes since he'd noticed him screaming on the security monitors. The boy had ripped open the front of his hospital gown and torn off the bandages that cover the strange not-quite tattoo imprinted on his chest. There were long deep fingernail gouges in his skin, as if he'd tried to claw out the mark. His bloody hands attested to that.

"Can you give him another shot?" O'Neill grunted as the kid twisted so hard he nearly lost his grip.

"That's enough sedative to put down a damn gorilla. Anymore could stop him breathing."

Since the kid's breathing consisted of short gurgling gasps between screams, and seemed barely able to get past his clenched teeth, O'Neill didn't argue for more drugs.

"Do you have any idea what's causing this?" he asked, flinching as another agonizing scream echoed through the room.

"There could have been some kind of time release poison in the pigment that was used to make that skull and snake pattern. The mark seems to be getting darker as the pain intensifies," the doctor said.

"Well can't you take the poison out? Liposuction or something?"

"I don't really have that kind of equipment here…"

"Go check on Greasy…I mean Smith. Carter's bringing him up here. The same thing is happening to him, but not as bad."

The doctor nodded and left, after calling in another guy in scrubs to stand by the defibrillator. O'Neill glanced at the heart and blood pressure monitors. He didn't know much about cardiovascular health but the hundreds of little spikes crammed onto the tiny green hued screen were probably not a good sign.

The screaming died away for a moment. The kid's eyes had been squeezed shut, but now they suddenly sprang open. He looked around the room as he continued to twist and spasm, his wild-eyed gaze sliding over the Marines and Scrubs and finally settling on O'Neill. His lips twitched and spittle foamed as he tried to form words. O'Neill leaned in closer

"Just….kill…me…"

O'Neill and the Marine holding down the kid's right side exchanged glances.

"You'll be alright in a minute," O'Neill tried to assure him, though he didn't believe that even slightly.

The thrashing grew weaker, but O'Neill thought that was probably because the kid was exhausting himself. The screams faded away to whimpers. The kid's eyes rolled back into his head and the thrashing ebbed away to faint muscle tremors. O'Neill thought perhaps they'd gotten lucky and the boy had finally passed out. The Marines and O'Neill stepped back from the bed, and sighed in relief. Scrubs came over and started dabbing disinfectant onto the scratches the kid had clawed in his chest.

"Where's the cat?" O'Neill asked the Marines who had been guarding the door.

"We tossed it in the bathroom sir. It was going insane," answered the taller Marine.

O'Neill's eyes drifted to the closed door. He didn't hear any mewling or scratching. He hoped they hadn't tossed it too hard. Carter seemed to want to write a paper on it.

He was about to go check on Greasy and Carter in the other room when the kid started shaking. Instead of kicking and thrashing he just trembled. Scrubs stepped back from the bed, stumbling over the visitor's chair in his haste to get away. The four men all looked on in confused horror. Even O'Neill couldn't recall anything quite that disturbing.

"Where the hell is that smoke coming from?" Scrubs finally asked in a shaking voice.

O'Neill stepped up to the bed, not sure how to answer. The skull and snake on the kid's chest had turned entirely black, and a thin trail of smoke rose from the ungodly symbol. He snatched up pitcher from the bedside table and tossed its contents over the mark. The water bubbled and boiled away, steam replaced by smoke again only a few seconds later.

"Ice-packs!" O'Neill shouted, pointing the empty pitcher at Scrubs who rushed off to find some.

O'Neill tentatively reached out. He was praying silently that the kid wasn't about to spontaneously combust. He rested his hand on the boy's forehead. It was clammy and cold. O'Neill moved his hand over the black lines of the mark. It was like passing his palm through a candle flame.

Scrubs returned and he and O'Neill covered the mark in ice-packs. Scrubs muttered about sending the kid into shock, but O'Neill was much more worried about the strange, almost bacon like smell. It filled the room as the sickly smoke rose. One of the Marines gagged.

It took half an hour and forty pounds of ice to finally stop the smoke from rising. O'Neill could no longer feel his hands as he stepped back so the returning Dr. Gaster could take over. The kid's teeth were no longer chattering, and he was a little blue around the mouth, but at least the smoke had stopped. O'Neill wanted nothing more then to slump in a chair and put his numb hands in his armpits, but he saw Teal'c standing in the doorway and knew it wasn't going to happen. He followed the massive man into the hall, feeling short and old.

"Mr. Smith has indicated he is willing to disclose something to you, though he insisted that all recording devices be shut off while he speaks," Teal'c said.

They went down the hall to the room that now housed Greasy. His arm had not smoked, and after his initial cry of pain he had managed to mostly ignore his skull and snake mark. As they entered Greasy looked up at them. O'Neill couldn't see his face very well, as it was obscured by a helmet and heavy goggles, but the prisoner's lips were a colorless line above a clenched jaw, indicating he was not exactly on cloud nine.

"I told you I would speak unobserved," Greasy said sharply, as Teal'c began to enter after the General.

The Jaffa raised a questioning eyebrow, and O'Neill nodded, indicating he'd be alright on his own. Teal'c closed the door as he walked back out. O'Neill crossed the room and unplugged the security camera. He turned to face the prisoner, who picked up a blue gel cold-pack and held it to his left forearm.

"You can't help him," Greasy said, leaning back in his chair and trying to look as if he weren't in excruciating pain with a bucket on his head.

"We can't?" O'Neill responded.

"His only chance is with his own kind."

"His own kind?" asked O'Neill, trying to draw out an answer.

"I think you have some idea."

"And we would contact 'his kind' how? I suppose it involves letting you walk out of here?"

"Hardly. Your facility is already under observation. Bring the boy outside and he'll be gone the moment you turn your back."

"How do I know you're not arranging for 'Voldemort' to pick him up?" O'Neill asked pointedly.

For once Greasy didn't wince as he said the 'V' word. "If the Dark Lord wished to recapture the boy, he would have done so. I believe it was his intention to allow the boy to return to his people so he could die, very painfully and loudly among them. It would be a message of sorts."

O'Neill stared into the opaque goggles, trying to sense some deception in the other's expression, but the visible portions of the prisoner's face were as blank as any wall could be. At least now he wasn't giving him brain worms.

"Can his people save him?" O'Neill asked finally.

"It isn't likely, but they have a greater chance of it then you."

"So why haven't 'his people' come to get him if they know where he is?"

"They do not want to be exposed."

"And their secret is worth more to them then the kid's life?"

"Some of them would think so, though I doubt they understand the severity of his situation."

"But you do?"

Greasy nodded. He nearly overbalanced in his chair as the helmet shifted.

"Then what can we do to help him?" O'Neill asked.

"Nothing," said Greasy flatly.

"What do you mean nothing? What's wrong with him? Microbes? Nanotech? Poison?"

Greasy stood up from his chair. O'Neill could see tiny beads of sweat forming on his upper lip. As he put all his weight on his shaking legs, the cold pack slipped from his pale hand and landed on the floor with a little splat sound that might have been crudely funny under other circumstances. The small skull imprinted on his left forearm seemed to watch its bearer and the General, with a consciousness all its own.

"It's a curse."

"There is nothing I can do for him," Dr. Gaster announced, setting down the boy's medical chart with a bit too much force.

No one at the table seemed surprised. They brought all they had to the meeting, to review the situation. O'Neill straightened the pile of mission reports. Carter was looking down at a large stack of computer printouts. Daniel had a thick old book, and O'Neill could smell the moldering mouse-chewed pages from across the room. Teal'c had his hands folded neatly before him, but seemed the most prepared of all.

"There's nothing we can do _here_," corrected Carter, after a moment's pause.

O'Neill nodded in acknowledgement, but they couldn't mention it in the doctor's presences. Gaster took the hint though and excused himself. He seemed too tired to be offended.

"So what else have we got?" O'Neill asked.

Daniel opened the book and whipped up a cloud of dust and mold that sent him into a sneezing fit. When he finally regained control of his nasal passages he turned to a page with an old wood cut stamped on it. A stylized tree stood in the center of what might have been smoke or flames. The picture was surrounded by tiny print. O'Neill thought the letters looked familiar, but didn't recognize any of the words.

"It's old English," Daniel explained.

"Like Shakespeare?" O'Neill asked.

"More like Beowulf. And don't worry; I won't try to quote things directly to you. This book was in the Archives at the British Museum. It's never been put on the catalogues, but the head of the acquisitions department was an old friend of mine from my internship at Oxford-"

"The _Point_ Daniel?" O'Neill interrupted. He wasn't usually this short with SG1's Archaeologist, but he still had the kid's screams echoing in his ears.

"Right. The book is actually a composite of several other even older books, and some of it appears to be bad translations of ancient Egyptian, which is almost unheard of considering this text was produced in the 9th century-" he glanced at O'Neill again and, sensing another interruption, sped up. "The point is that the book appears to be a sort of medieval medical desk-reference, a large portion of which addresses supernatural illness. I only got hold of it this morning, but it talks about curse breaking in great detail. It claims a curse can be broken by burning Fumitory, _Fumaria__ officinalis, _and making a poultice of Rue,_ Ruta graveolens _and Oak leaves and applying it to the 'evil mark.' There are some magic words too, in a sort of bastardized Latin that I haven't seen before."

"Magic words?" O'Neill asked, clearly not impressed.

"They're part of the ritual. I've checked out the plants, none of them are toxic. It couldn't hurt to try, could it?"

"Does the book mention anything about the 'wizards' we've run into?" O'Neill asked.

"It talks a lot about healing spells and occasionally magic wands are mentioned, but other then that there isn't much about the group itself. The book refers to witches and wizards as if they are a normal part of life, which is a little unusual. They don't address them as disciples of Satan or as religious figures. They just are."

With a sigh that caused Daniel to scowl faintly, O'Neill turned to Carter.

"Any ideas?"

"I haven't been able to detect any kind of technological influences. There's nothing on the electromagnetic spectrum. There aren't any unusual electrical signals. There aren't any unusual chemicals or microbes in his system. There's nothing to explain the spontaneous burning around the mark. Frankly sir, I have no idea what's happening."

"Any random guesses?" O'Neill asked.

"If it's triggered by a broadcast signal of some kind, rather then a chemical timer, we might be able to use shielding and distance," said Carter.

"Distance we can definitely provide."

"MI5 isn't just going to let us walk him out of here. The paperwork alone could take years," Daniel pointed out.

"I can start faxing them the paperwork as soon as I get back to the mountain," O'Neill said.

Daniel frowned. "It's been more then a hundred years since we had a war with England. Do you really want to start something?"

"So we should let the kid go up like a flambé piñata while we fill out forms?"

Teal'c raised an eyebrow at O'Neill's bizarre simile, but didn't comment.

"I'm not saying we shouldn't do it," Daniel said holding up his hands, "We still don't know much about the culture he's part of. They might take it as an act of aggression if we run off with him. I just thought we should bring up all the consequences."

"Gee thanks Daniel, I'd forgotten."

Their contest of glares was interrupted by Teal'c.

"I believe there is a Tauri expression which very aptly suits this situation," he said.

The other three turned to look at him.

"'It is better to ask forgiveness then permission.'"

* * *

At nine fourteen P.M. local time, a _Little Sicily_ pizza delivery van was admitted to the U.S. Embassy in London, after a brief search. It rolled into the underground parking garage, and stopped in front of the elevators. The driver climbed out, and walked to the rear of the vehicle to open the doors. There were several insulated boxes strapped to one wall. The boxes contained yet-to-be-delivered pizza. On the opposite side was a heavy steel shelf. Under the shelf was a collection of medical supplies and surveillance equipment. The driver, identified as "John" by his single slice nametag, pressed the speaker button on the elevator's call box.

"Your order's 'ere. One extra large wif anchovies." John said, with a thick cockney accent.

"Be down in one second," a static clouded male voice answered.

John stepped back and scanned the garage again as he waited. Nothing stood out as unusual, but he still felt uneasy. There was a sharp "ping" and a moment later the elevator doors slid open. Out of them stepped one of the largest men John had ever seen. He wore black fatigues and knit cap low on his forehead. His dark skinned face was free of strain, despite the fact that he was carrying the front end of a massive clear plastic coffin. The intimidating man nodded to John and walked past him, carefully guiding the coffin onto the shelf in the back of the van. The two men carrying the back half of the coffin sighed as their burden was relieved. One wore black fatigues and carried a duffle bag as well, the other was unassuming, with glasses, brown slacks, and a tie.

John was usually very good at not noticing the things he delivered, but the occupant of the coffin held his attention more then it should have. If it wasn't for the little monitor on the end showing heart rate and blood pressure, he would have thought the boy was dead. Maybe he would have felt better if the boy had been dead. He looked over the coffin again. It was one of those things he only expected to see on movies about Ebola outbreaks in some far away jungle, not in the middle of London. He nearly jumped out of his skin when the boy's hand slapped against the side of his container. The huge dark skinned man who had been strapping the coffin in leaned closer, and pressed his ear to the plastic. He climbed out of the van and muttered something to the other man in fatigues, then jogged back into the elevator. The three of them stood in silence until the large man returned, with a tabby cat in tan carry-crate.

The man in the brown slacks looked pensive. "Jack I don't think-"

Jack made a "mouth shut" gesture with his left hand and pointed him back to the elevator. He nodded sullenly and went. John made one last search of the parking garage. He'd been assured anonymity in this little caper but he was certain something was off. He felt watched. With cat and coffin secured, the two men in fatigues settled themselves into the little remaining floor space in the van. They pulled the doors closed after themselves. John climbed into the driver's seat and drove back out of the garage.

A guard stopped him at the gate, and shined a flashlight in the window. The yellow circle passed over the two black clad men, the equipment, and the coffin. The guard smiled politely at John.

"Everything looks alright. Have a nice evenin'," the guard said with a slightly southern accent.

"And you mate," John responded.

The gates opened and they rolled out into the moderately busy avenue. John worked his way through the streets with calm deliberation, despite the strange prickly feeling on the back of his neck telling him to stomp on the accelerator. He made a few more stops, dropping off three other pizzas, and collected a few very lousy tips. He made one last search up and down the block, but nothing suspicious materialized.

As expected, traffic was down to a crawl on every approach to Heathrow airport. Without looking at his passengers, John spoke.

"If you lads are feeling peckish, there's another three-meat special and some cokes back there somewhere."

"I see them. Thanks," said Jack. There was some shuffling, followed by a pop and the loud hiss of escaping carbonation. The dark skinned man and the boy in the coffin didn't seem to take much interest in the meal, but Jack dug in hungrily. When John looked in the rearview he saw him stuffing greasy bits of sausage through the bars of the cat's carry crate. The animal gobbled them up. He hoped he could get his passengers on their plane before the poor beast got ill.

John went by the main entrance to the terminal, where rows of cabs waited for passengers and on to the gate his orders indicated. As they rolled into the security checkpoint, Jack crawled into the passenger seat. He had a thin brief case in his lap. He'd removed his black jacket and replaced it with a slightly wrinkled white shirt and tie. As an airport guard came to the passenger's window, he presented him with a small stack of papers and a passport.

"I'll have to call this in Sir," the guard said.

"That's fine," Jack said calmly.

Twenty minutes later the guard returned. He handed John a map with a highlighted route.

"Do not deviate from this route. Do not make any other stops. Understood?" the guard asked.

John nodded. The guard stepped back. The gates rolled open and a row of rusty tire spikes sank into the concrete. John slowly and cautiously drove out onto the tarmac. He stuck to the highlighted path, and the only close call was with some escaped mental patient driving a baggage cart. They rolled to a stop under the belly of a Leer jet.

It was hard to feel covert as he helped unload the plastic coffin under the glaring lights of the plane. The boy didn't react much to being moved. His eyes were squeezed shut and he was crushing handfuls of blanket in both fists. They struggled up the narrow steps but finally settled the coffin on the floor of the jet. Jack went up to speak with the pilot. The dark skinned man, still in his fatigues, followed John back down the steps and retrieved the cat-crate and the duffle bag from the van. He gave John a strangely formal half bow, and returned to the plane.

John returned to the gate, following the highlighted route precisely. The guards checked him out more quickly then they checked him in. As he waited a white blur caught the corner of his eye. He leaned out his window and looked up. A large white owl was circling a dozen meters up. It watched him with unnatural attention. The guard returned, and the gate opened again. He noticed John staring and followed his gaze.

"Weird isn't it?" the guard said.

John could only nod.

* * *

The plane took off just after three in the morning. There was some mild turbulence as they passed over Ireland, but everything settled out as they reached the Atlantic. O'Neill peered out the window at the cloudless night sky. He knew the embassy would be catching flack by now. News of his departure had no doubt filtered up to MI5. There was going to be a real mess when he landed in Colorado. He knew he should rest up for it, but he couldn't keep his eyes closed. Feeling more then a little jealous, he looked across the cabin. Teal'c had reclined his seat and was sleeping calmly.

O'Neill sighed and got up. He went to check on the kid, who was secured in his biohazard box at the front of the cabin. He hadn't heard any moaning or screaming for several minutes and he was starting to get concerned. They'd been giving the kid pain killers, but those had not seemed to work.

The heart and blood pressure monitors built into the end of the box showed a slow steady pulse. He looked down at the kid and saw he was unconscious. O'Neill kept watch for a few minutes before realizing the kid was asleep. Not passed out from pain and drugs, but truly asleep. Carter's random guess had proved right again. They must be out of range of whatever was setting off the mark.

A strange urge struck him then, and he walked back up the cabin. Teal'c had put the cat-in-crate on the seat next to him. As quietly as he could O'Neill leaned past him and picked it up. He carried the cat over to the plastic biohazard coffin and held the crate so the animal could see its owner.

"See, he's alright," O'Neill said.

"Mew," said the cat.

O'Neill had just managed to find a comfortable position in his semi-reclinable chair when there was a loud rap of fists against plastic. He hurried over to the kid who was trying to get out of his box.

"Calm down!" O'Neill said.

The kid twisted around a bit so he could see the General more clearly.

"Let me out!"

"I can't do that right now. Listen for a second alright?"

The kid nodded.

"That weird skull thing was burning you, and we couldn't do anything about it, but one of my people suggested that if the mark was activated by a broadcast signal, we might be able to get you out of range. Does it still hurt?"

The kid looked surprised, then thoughtful. "It aches a little bit, but it's not nearly as bad as it was."

"Since we don't know exactly what caused it to stop, you're just going to have to stay put until we do. Fair enough?"

"I guess so."

There were several minutes of slightly awkward silence. O'Neill guessed the kid would need time to think things over, and was about to turn around when the boy spoke again.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"Right now we're halfway across the Atlantic Ocean."

"Really?"

O'Neill nodded.

"I've never been out of Britain before." The kid paused for another moment. "Where are you taking me?"

"Colorado."

"Aren't we going to the States?"

"Colorado is a State."

"Oh. Is it one of the small ones? I only learned the first thirteen. And California, where they make movies, right? And Arnold Schwarzenegger is governor."

"Your knowledge of my country astounds me," O'Neill said in a flat voice with a smirk.

"Well, can you name all the provinces in England?"

They chatted for another fifteen minutes before the kid drifted off to sleep again. O'Neill was rather surprised the kid had taken in his situation so calmly. He hadn't asked to contact his aunt and uncle, or anyone else for that matter. He seemed to be taking his not quite kidnapping extremely well. Of course he was getting farther and farther away from the crazy cult who tortured him.

The kid slept through the refueling in Atlanta, and didn't notice the Air Force Medic they picked up there, to keep an eye on him for the rest of the journey. He didn't wake up again until they hit turbulence over the Rockies. He sat up so fast his slammed his head on the top of the box. It took O'Neill several minutes to get him calmed down. The kid slept again.

The kid didn't wake when they landed or when they were loading his biohazard coffin into a truck for transport to the Mountain. A security detail was loaded into the truck as well. O'Neill was still concerned about the resent leaks to former N.I.D. agents and their new organization, The Trust. O'Neill rode in the back with the kid and soldiers. Teal'c rode in the cab with the driver and the cat. It was nearly sunset again when they finally got to the base, which didn't really matter since a few minutes latter they were in an elevator, sinking down under a million tons of rock.

A team of doctors met them as they wheeled the coffin into the hall. O'Neill still found himself unconsciously searching the crowd in white coats for Dr. Frasier. For a second he thought he saw her, but as he did a double-take he disappointedly understood that it was just a nurse with a similar haircut. _People don't come back from the dead_, he told himself again as the kid was wheeled away. It was, after all, usually true.

He was brought out of his reverie by an aid with a clipboard and an anxious expression.

"Sir, the President is on line two."

It was a whole week before things went to hell again. Most of that week, O'Neill spent in his office filling reports and placating officials from the U.K. A lot of the top dogs in England seemed almost desperate to get the kid back. It was starting to look more and more like the Prime Minister was getting his strings pulled. Harry Potter was apparently very important to somebody over there.

The U.S. government on the other hand seemed rather upset that O'Neill had spent several hundred thousand of the taxpayer's dollars to move the kid. They wanted multiple justifications of expenditures and constant progress reports on the kid's abilities and how those abilities might be used to combat the Go'auld or add to the Earth's defense forces. All the while the kid seemed perfectly happy to sit in the medical center, watch American TV, and deny that he had any interesting abilities at all. O'Neill found the kid's feigned cluelessness very annoying and had a corporal hunt up some high school textbooks. He assigned the kid some trigonometry and chemistry problems. Misery loves company after all.

Between calls and emails to politicians, O'Neill tried to keep up with the reports Carter and Daniel were sending him, though they seemed to be making even less progress. Daniel had gone to talk to his contact at the British Museum about the book he had been loaned, but the man could not remember loaning it to him, and deigned ever seeing him before. Daniel was trying to find common threads in local myths and legend, but was having little luck. He was planning to take a field trip to Surrey the following Monday, to see if he couldn't pry a few more answers out the Dursleys.

Carter had sent a few of the stick weapons back to the U.S. for testing, but the results on this side of the Atlantic were the same. The sticks were just wood with bits of hair or feathers in the center. While the physics end of her investigation was falling short she was having some success looking over police reports for mentions of the cult members. Apparently groups of maniacs in Grim Reaper costumes were not new to England. Reports of them were very common, though most of the reports were dismissed as hoaxes or hallucinations. The strange thing was that up until fifteen years ago the sightings were in the hundreds, and then suddenly after Halloween they stopped completely. Three months ago they started up again with even greater intensity. And no one in the U.K. seemed to care.

Greasy was still being uncooperative. No surprise there.

O'Neill had just finished another request to NORAD to adjust a spy satellite over London. As he watched the little bar on his computer inch along the bottom of the screen, indicating the message was still in transit, he sank back in his chair. It was a really nice chair, he found himself thinking. Weir had ordered it when she had taken command of the base from General Hammond. It was probably a very expensive chair. O'Neill checked the clock. It was almost one in the morning. As soon as the message went through he could get a few hours of sleep. He leaned further back into the padding.

_It could be worse_, he though.

Later he would think back, and find it unusual that he could remember the exact minute when he jinxed himself.


	7. Going Further

**Crumpets Aren't My Style**

**By Marz**

**Going Further**

It wasn't so bad really, Harry thought. The food was pretty bland, but he didn't have to cook any of it. The people were nice, though they made it very clear that he wasn't allowed to go anywhere except for a few rooms, and he always had to be supervised. He liked the gym the most, since the off duty soldiers invited him play basketball with them. It wasn't Quidditch, but it was still fun.

He had to see the doctor twice a day for tests. He didn't think they'd have any luck removing the Dark Mark, but it was sort of uplifting to know that strangers who had never even heard of the-boy-who-lived were trying so hard to help him. Harry also thought it was rather cool to see x-rays of his skull and M.R.I.s of his brain.

Mr. O'Neill had stopped by to check on him a few times, but was always too busy to stay long. Harry felt guilty about lying to him, but he did want to go back to Hogwarts some day, and Harry knew the Ministry would never forgive him for telling all to a muggle, no matter what prophecy he was in. With all the spy stuff the Americans had access too, they would probably find out all they wanted to about wizards without Harry ever saying a word. O'Neill seemed a bit angry with him, and had given him homework.

Harry didn't understand trigonometry very well. He swung his legs back and forth under the chair. He wondered if Hermione would be able to figure it out. She hadn't been in a muggle school since she was ten either, but she'd probably be able to do this. Sine and Cosine and Tangent, all those numbers and you couldn't even get a spell out of it. He sighed and put his head down on the table. Hermione and Ron and Mrs. Weasley were probably very worried about him.

He knew he should feel guiltier about running off with the Americans. Especially now that he understood how much people were depending on him. Dumbledore seemed to truly believe that Harry Potter was the only person on Earth capable of killing Voldemort. Not that Harry believed the Prophesy. If he possessed a power that even Voldemort didn't have, he would have been able to save Sirius. All that prophesy did was paint a big fat target on him. And now Voldemort had painted him with something worse. Even if he could go home without the thing killing him, no one would trust him.

_After all that, I deserve a real vacation, away from the Dursleys, away from the Order and Voldemort and most of all Dumbledore. I deserve it don't I? The condemned get a last meal and a last cigar, why shouldn't I get a bit of real rest before the whole mess gets going again?_

His moping was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Come in!" he called.

The door sung open and Mr. Teal'c stepped in, carrying Professor McGonagall. She was still a cat of course. Harry had yet to find a set of bolt-cutters to free her from the collar that prevented her transformation. Not that he was looking terribly hard. She would probably make him return to England and the Order the second she was free.

"Your cat was in a restricted area HarryPotter. She set off several alarms," he said.

"She was probably chasing mice. She can't read the 'restricted' signs after all. Sorry if she caused any trouble," Harry said, taking the cat from the large man. "Thank you for bringing her back," he added.

Mr. Teal'c bowed and left.

"See anything interesting Professor?" Harry asked as he set his teacher down on his cot.

"I still haven't been able to get to the lowest floors," she said, stretching and digging her claws into the blankets. "There must be something down there, else why would they be putting so much effort into guarding it?"

Harry shrugged. He was still having trouble reconciling the strict voice of his head of house coming from the tiny feline body. He paused for a second to listen and make sure no one was at the door. McGonagall had insisted that the translation spell would only work for wizards, but he still didn't want to be overheard talking to a cat.

"It's probably just nuclear stuff, redesigning A-bombs and all that," he said finally. "Does sine equal opposite over hypotenuse, or over adjacent?"

"What are you talking about? Are you still struggling with that muggle math?" McGonagall asked, hopping from the cot to the desk. She looked over the triangle he was studying with more than a bit of contempt, and then sat down on his book.

"I don't see why you're bothering with this now, Mr. Potter. You took Divinations rather then Arithmancy after all."

"Muggles my age are supposed to know how to do this. You don't want them to think there's something unusual about me do you?"

"You could feign stupidity Mr. Potter. Simply make that face you always wear in my class."

"Hey!" he said, frowning. He wasn't that bad at transfigurations. He always got average or better, and he was certain he'd done well on his O.W.L.s though he hadn't yet received his scores.

"Really Mr. Potter," McGonagall chided, her tail lashed back and forth sharply. "I'd think a boy your age would know how to deal with a bit of levity."

"Oh! Sorry Professor. It's just that I've never known you to make jokes."

The cat sighed. "It is rather difficult to maintain my usual demeanor when I haven't had an opposable thumb for two weeks. I'm attempting to find the 'bright side' in my situation. Speaking of the bright side, I believe I smelled tuna fish as I passed the cafeteria."

"So it's lunch time then?" Harry asked, setting down his pencil. He thought of making a comment about fat cats, but he didn't think McGonagall's new fondness for levity would extend that far. He went to the call box. They'd given him a private room, two days earlier, so he wouldn't be in the way of the medical staff, but whenever he left the room he had to get an escort. He pressed the button, hoping it would be the same pretty officer who had been assigned to watch him the day before. She had said she really liked his accent.

"Yes?" said a rather annoyed and electronically distorted voice from the tiny speaker.

"I'd like to go to the cafeteria please," Harry said as politely as he could.

"Someone will be with you shortly."

* * *

The kid looked slightly disappointed when he opened the door. O'Neill was going to ask what was up, but then he remembered Airman Emmett had been assigned to the kid the day before. He supposed he was not a great substitute in that regard.

"Hello Mr. O'Neill," the kid said.

"Hey. Heard you were hungry," he said, stepping back from the door so the kid could get into the hall.

"A bit, it's the Professor more then me," he said waving to the tabby cat that shadowed them as they walked. "She's getting spoiled. I don't think she'll ever settle for tinned food after this."

"Meow!' said the cat.

"Right," said the kid.

It took a second for O'Neill to realize the kid was responding to the cat.

"So, how are you doing?" O'Neill asked as they stepped into the elevator.

"I'm alright," said the kid.

The boy was tensing up again, as he always did when O'Neill started asking questions. As they pushed through the swinging doors of the cafeteria, he decided to change tactics. They picked up their trays and got in line. He was about to bring up hockey when the cat jumped up onto the boy's shoulder. The kid didn't seem startled by it. The cook however, glared at them over the steam trays. The cat mewed softly and the kid politely requested one of the tuna stuffed tomatoes. The kid also got a bowl of soup and taco casserole for himself. O'Neill had a brief flash back to the meat surprise that so often occupied the lunch line in his high school days. He got coffee and a bologna sandwich. They sat at a table in the corner of the room, which gave them a bit of privacy as the rest of the lunch time rush arrived.

The kid set the tuna stuffed tomato on a napkin, and pushed it a little way down the table. The cat hopped from his shoulder to table top and started nibbling away at its lunch. The kid poked at his taco casserole. O'Neill was waiting for him to start the conversation, but the kid didn't seem anymore comfortable with that. O'Neill sighed. He usually got on really well with kids.

"Any chance at all that you're going to tell me what's going on?" he asked.

The kid looked guilty but didn't answer.

"We're not going to be able to take these cult guys out unless we know more about the situation. With enough intel we can deal with just about any thing the universe has to throw at us."

"I can't tell you," the kid said sullenly.

"Why can't you tell me? In case you didn't notice, secrets are a large part of our business here. I can guarantee that what you say to me will not be passed on, and it definitely won't get back to England."

"It doesn't matter who you tell. They'll know I told."

"Who's going to know?"

For just an instant too long, the boy's eyes rested on the cat.

O'Neill wanted to mention that the cat was the one least likely to give him away, but then he looked at the animal, which had paused in its consumption of tuna to stare at him. The bright yellow eyes with thin slashed pupils seemed to be standard cat issue, but there was something in its gaze that made him think back to Carters report; a cat with little old lady DNA.

The kid seemed to be sinking back into silent brooding, so O'Neill brought up hockey. The kid seemed more confused by the game then anything else. Apparently he'd never been ice skating and found the entire concept of two hundred pound men sliding around on the ice while trying to slap a little puck with sticks to be the second most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard of. He wouldn't explain the first. Despite not getting any information on the wizard cult the conversation seemed to be going well. O'Neill was about to bring up _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_, as it was the only part of British culture he really understood when the kid slapped both hands to his forehead.

"Ouch!" he said, his eyes starting to tear up.

"What is it?" O'Neill asked, reaching across the table.

"No!" the kid whispered. In the next instant he was jumping up from his seat. "I have to get out of here! Right now!" he shouted.

"What's wrong!" O'Neill demanded.

"I…I…" the kid stuttered as he backed away. Everyone else was getting up from their tables as well. The kid's eyes went to the exit, but there were too many people in the way.

"Please! I have to go," the kid said. His hands moved away from his face. A thin lightening shaped scar in the center of his forehead, which had so far escaped notice, was now glowed bright blood red. "He's coming!"

"Just calm down!" O'Neill said, holding up his hands. "You're hundreds of feet under ground. No one is going to get to you in here."

The kid stopped backing away and for a second O'Neill thought he'd gotten through. Then he noticed smoke coming from the boy's shirt. The kid looked down.

"Uh-oh," the kid said.

Green flames erupted through the fabric, and for a moment the kid's entire upper body was engulfed. O'Neill pulled of his jacket and tackled the kid to the ground, trying to smother the fire. The cook appeared a moment later with an extinguisher, but the freezing white mist had no effect. The fire ate through O'Neill's uniform jacket and burned his hands. The sprinklers hissed to life.

With in seconds every person in the room was drenched, but even as the boy lay on the wet concrete floor, the green flames continued to rise, struggling to consume in spite of the water. In the center of the kid's chest, O'Neill saw the skull and snake mark silhouetted against the unnatural light. He moved around the kid, so he could reach his neck without putting his hand in the fire. There was no pulse.

* * *

The air was hot and smelled of dust and faintly pine. Huge boulders and slabs of dull red-ish rock lay scattered among the twisted trees and short dry brush. It was quite. Not even the faint buzz of insects interrupted the still summer day. Only the faint crunch of three pairs of boot across loose stones could be heard on the mountain top.

"He's here," said the old man, holding up his hand.

The woman on his left already had a wand in her hand. The younger man, following a bit behind, drew his from his sleeve, and sniffed the air. Somewhere in the distance, a rock tumbled loose, clicking and clacking down a distant hill. The three stood tensely, eyes darting about.

The blast of green light came from the left, and might have struck the old man had the woman not thrown herself in its path. Before her body struck the ground the younger man sent a wave of fire into the trees, and they went up like Roman candles. The wind came at them filled with smoke and bitter ash. The two men exchanged looks. The younger spoke.

"It's a trap Albus. We should go back."

"We cannot, Julian."

"Of course not," called a high hissing voice from the depths of the burning forest. "He cannot leave without his golden pawn."

A shadow appeared in the fires, coming slowly towards them, resolving into a tall man covered head to toe in a black cloak. Only his long spider-like hands were visible. One held a wand.

"The muggles thought they could hide him under a mountain, but I can find anyone who bears my mark," the man in the flames hissed. "He's mine now Dumbledore."

"Stop this foolishness Tom. Leave the child alone."

"Appealing to my sense of morality old man?" he laughed. "I know longer have one. Morals are for lower beings, only power matters."

"The boy has a power you will never know," Dumbledore said calmly.

The man in the fire laughed again. "What power old man? Courage? Loyalty? A true heart? If you believe that drivel you are further gone then even I realized. But tell me, do you posses any of those weak qualities you so value in the boy? Do you truly care whether he lives or dies, or is he simply another soldier in this little contest of ours?"

The man stepped out of the flames and drew back the hood of his cloak.

"You are falling old man. You can't even break through my wards and apparate in to save the boy. Your days grow short and your power fades. Would the boy's death really trouble you? I am not completely uncharitable, old man. I'll make you a deal; your life for the boy's. Even now he is burning, but he's not beyond my power to revive. If the boy is so important shouldn't this be an easy choice? Your life for his? Think quickly old man, before he is nothing but ashes."

* * *

"WHERE THE HELL IS THAT MEDICAL TEAM?" O'Neill roared.

The cook rushed forward with a pile of kitchen towels. Already soaked by the sprinklers they were less inclined to combust. They spread them over the boy's chest. O'Neill struggled to suppress a string of sarcastic thoughts. _I can't seem to remember the proper CPR procedure for when the victim is still on fire_. He tilted the kid's head back, pinched his nose, and breathed air into his lungs. The cook started chest compressions. They went through fifteen cycles of compressions and breathing. O'Neill was starting to get dizzy. It was on the sixteenth round that the kid coughed smoky air in O'Neill's face. The kid's eyes were half open and his pulse was thready, but when O'Neill grabbed his hand, he squeezed it in response, and didn't let go until the medical team finally arrived. The kid was loaded onto a stretcher.

"Bring him to the gate room," O'Neil ordered, obeying an instinct he didn't quite understand.

Dr. Brightman started to argue, but then the green flames ate their way through the rapidly drying towels. They all crammed into the elevator. At the last second, just as the doors were closing, a wet, smelly cat leapt in as well. It huddled miserably at O'Neill's feet. As they stepped out on the lowest floor of the base, lieutenant Barns rushed up to meet them. Alarms were going off and red warning lights flashed around them.

"There's a fire sir," Barns said breathlessly.

"I noticed," O'Neill said, waving towards the kid and the unnatural green flames.

Barns stopped for a moment, completely dumbfounded. "I mean the forest sir," he finally choked out.

"The forest?" O'Neill said as they rushed the stretcher towards the gate room.

"There is a massive forest fire on the mountain sir. We've had to switch to internal air because of the smoke and pull back the guards. Are we locking the base down sir?"

"Yeah," he answered.

He was torn for a moment, wanting to make sure the kid got through the gate alright and knowing the safety of the base was his first priority. Fortunately Teal'c came running down the hall, solving at least half his problems.

"We need more distance," O'Neill said.

Teal'c nodded in understanding.

"Go with him alright?"

Teal'c nodded again.

O'Neill watched them rush down the hall and turn the corner. He felt relieved but at the same time a little voice nagged him. He was forgetting something but could not remember what.

He and Barns jogged to the command room. As the techies dialed up the gate, O'Neill picked up the big red phone.

* * *

He felt as if he was coming loose from his body, and only thin strands, like stretched taffy allowed him to hold on. Harry tried to open his eyes, and realized they already were. He became aware of the light, the stinging fluorescence over head and the green glow from under the towels on his chest. He was wet and people were mumbling loudly and incomprehensively in his ears. Someone took his hand and he held onto it as hard as he could, but then things were moving and it was gone.

_"…the gate…the gate…the gate…"_

The words were chanted over and over again in his head, each time in a different voice.

His chest burned. It hurt so badly he could not think of words to describe it. He was still moving. A woman with dark brown hair and a white coat leaned over him for a moment. She shined a light in his eyes then disappeared. Suddenly they were in a room with a high concrete ceiling. There was a strange rumbling noise, interspersed with loud echoing clanks.

He struggled to speak. "What?" was all he could manage.

"Do not fear HarryPotter. So you shall soon be beyond the reach of your tormentor," said Mr. Teal'c.

Harry twisted his neck trying to see him. Instead he saw the ring.

The cold circle of metal twisted, and jerked to a stop momentarily. Despite his tunneling vision he saw the runes carved into the ring. There was a clank, and the ring spun again. His voice came back to him a little then, though even he was unsure about what he was trying to say.

"…the arch…holds the veil of death…falling…I won't go…"

Suddenly in the center of the ring, a blue light burst into being. It expanded out ward and Harry was certain it would engulf them all. He tried to raise his hands to defend himself, but they would not obey. The light shrank back, forming a wall of wavering, water like brightness across the span of the circle. Then he was moving again, up a ramp toward the light. Fear filled him. The lights above him flickered and several of them burst, raining down bits of broken glass. The people around him stumbled but kept pushing his forward. He tried to find the strength to do more, to force his magic to work even without a wand, but he felt empty inside.

"No!" he mumbled.

He was pushed into the light.

* * *

She never considered herself a coward, but as the muggles disappeared into the strange portal, she felt filled with a terror so strong it was almost paralyzing, and for an instant she considered abandoning her student. She lashed her tail once, pushing away the unworthy thought, and charged. She darted around the men in fatigues that tried to snatch her up, and leapt over the wires and boxes that covered the floor. The room filled with shouts as she reached the ramp, digging harder with each bound. The portal loomed before her, and every instinct told her that she would drown in that strange light. Taking a deep breath, she dove.

* * *

His heart was pounding against his ribs, and he knew that even if his magic lasted the rest of the battle, that tired old thing might not. Riddle ducked another binding spell and tried to conjure more demonic monstrosities from the scorched earth. Before they were even half formed Dumbledore dissolved them. Julian tried once more to disarm the Dark Lord, but the American wizard's spell was no match for the layers of wardings that surrounded the evil being. Julian was forced to dive aside as a killing curse flew his way. He rolled uncontrolled down the side of the mountain.

Suddenly both of the powerful wizards stopped. In that same moment they felt a burst of terrified and uncontrolled power, and then nothing. Dumbledore removed an object from his pocket, careful not to take his eyes off Riddle as he did. He held up the handle of a knife. The blade had melted away to nothing, but its owner had kept it, under a few spare shirts at the bottom of his wardrobe at Hogwarts. It was the only personal object of Harry's he could get on such short notice. Dumbledore had used it as the center of tracking spell which had led him across an ocean and half a continent. Now the spell was broken. The owner of the object was gone.

"Something the matter old man?" Riddle asked.

He stepped closer, and Dumbledore did nothing to stop him.

"I really did think he would last a bit longer. Perhaps the muggles decided to put him out of his misery. Do you regret not trading for him? I wouldn't mind ending your misery as well."

Dumbledore said nothing, he only looked at the empty handle with a lost expression. Riddle took another step.

"The boy was never anything but a boy was he? The Prophesy was just something you set up for Trelawney to speak in the presence of one of my operatives. The Potters were bait in another trap you laid for me, weren't they?" Riddle hissed.

Dumbledore knew that Riddle feared powers that were still beyond him. Divination was definitely one of those powers. Even now, after he'd carried out his part and killed the only one able to defeat him, Riddle tried to free himself from it. He came closer still. With blurring speed Dumbledore took aim and shouted two words he'd sworn upon his own grave never to speak.

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

The mountains shook as the green light blasted across them. The plants and animals spared the fire withered to nothing as it passed. But it was pointless. Riddle had already moved. Dumbledore turned searching, but a hand seized his wrist. His wand was snatched away. Riddle leered down at him.

"I won't kill you now old man. It's not worth the bother, with no one important around to see it. When I come for Hogwarts, I'll take your life as well. It won't be a long wait. If you'll excuse me, I have an announcement to make to the Wizarding world."

Riddle disapparated, but long after he was gone, his laughter echoed across the burning mountain side. Among the ashes, the old man sank to his knees.


	8. Surrey Interlude: Part I

**Author's note:** This was originally going to be just one chapter, but then it started expanding, so I cut it into two parts to get the update out faster. Sorry the updates are taking so long. School is beating me over the head with a shovel and stealing all my free time. I'm trying to track all the characters and keep things chronological, so there is going to be a bit of back and forth in the next few parts. Anyway here's the chapter, tell me what you think!

**Crumpets Aren't My Style**

**By Marz**

**Surrey**** Interlude: Part I**

Daniel raised his cup of coffee toward his ear, but Sam's sudden polite cough brought the little mix up to his attention before anything truly terrible happened. He sighed and raised his other hand, which contained the phone. He'd spent most of Sunday night reviewing English and Celtic mythology and historical documents, trying to find some correlation between the legends of witches and wizards and the group that had some how integrated itself into so many levels of British society. Records of witch burnings were plentiful, as were accounts of trials and confessions, but none of that was the slightest bit helpful, as there was no indication that the people executed had any supper natural ability.

As he punched in the carpel tunnel inducing phone number, necessary to reach the base in Colorado, his mind wandered back to the planet where Teal'c had been accused of witchcraft. The natives had burned the Jaffa with a red hot poker and then chained him to a rock and threw him in a lake. He was tentatively found innocent when he drowned, but was found guilty later when his symbiote revived him. Daniel sighed again. The only records he could find seemed to prove that witches were nothing more then the product of hysterical imaginations, and possibly hallucinogenic chemicals produced by crop fungus.

Sam was busy typing away at her laptop computer, mulling over hundreds of police reports and newspaper articles in which the stories just didn't add up. She'd started making graphs and had somehow produced an equation out of whatever it was she found. He was tempted to ask her about her findings, but he was pretty sure he wouldn't understand the answer if he did. She saw him watching and sent a questioning look.

"I'm on hold. Something's up."

She nodded. "I've just checked the U.S. Forestry Service web site. There're several massive forest fires going in Colorado right now. The General's probably got his hands full."

"Do you think it has anything to do with the…you know?" Daniel asked, pressing "3" to indicate he had a security code that authorized him to speak to base personnel.

"At the risk of sounding paranoid I think just about everything has something to do with the kid and that cult. You wouldn't believe how many inconclusive autopsies they've had in the past two years; six deaths in Little Hangleton with no apparent cause, fifty seven in London, two or three in each of the major cities. The health agencies should be all over this but no one seems to be even slightly interested!" Sam ran her hand through her hair distractedly. "It's like everyone in this entire country is half asleep."

"Maybe they're under a spell," Daniel suggested.

Sam snorted. "More likely they're under a bribe."

They're conversation was cut short as Daniel finally got through to Sgt. Walter. General O'Neill was occupied with several different pressing issues and didn't have time to speak with them. Since Daniel couldn't confirm that the phone line was absolutely secure he could only give the vaguest outlines of how the mission was proceeding. Daniel thought this was rather fortunate, since it allowed him to make "absolutely no progress" sound very mysterious and important. He handed off the phone to Sam, and checked his watch. They'd arranged to take an embassy car to Surrey that morning, but it was looking more and more like they wouldn't make it there until well into the afternoon.

* * *

"This doesn't look promising," Daniel said as he climbed out of the car.

It had been two weeks since his phone call to the Dursley residence. Fourteen newspapers lay unopened on the porch. The lawn was yellowing and curtains were drawn closed. Agent Farthing had insisted that the Dursleys were being closely monitored, but it seemed the monitors had taken a ridiculously long coffee break and missed something very important.

Sam got out of the driver's seat and slammed the door. She'd decided to forgo her Air Force uniform and wore a professional looking pantsuit with a jacket loose enough to conceal a zat. She was confident she and Daniel wouldn't draw any unusual attention if they were both dressed as civilians, but realized immediately that she was wrong. She searched the street. A woman down the block quickly closed her drapes, but Sam didn't think she was anything other then nosey. Still, she felt as if she was being watched and traded a glance with Daniel over the roof of the embassy car. She could tell he felt it too, but he shrugged.

"We might as well have a look around," she said. ****

No one answered when Daniel rang the bell. Just to make sure, he knocked as well, but had no more success. He tried the knob. The door swung open on well oiled hinges.

"Mr. Dursley? Hello?" he called.

There was no answer.

They circled the outside of the house once, to make certain they weren't walking into some sort of ambush. As they stepped across the threshold into the silent house, the feeling of being watched intensified. They looked over the expensive and uncomfortable furniture, but found nothing blatantly unusual. The lower floor of the house was fairly neat, but a few knickknacks were overturned and there were several dark squares on the walls where pictures used to hang. The only thing slightly suspicious on the first floor was the closet under the staircase. The small triangular door was sealed with two latches and a dead bolt. It was locked from the outside, so they decided to inspect it later.

The steps creaked on the way up. The second floor contained three bedrooms, a bathroom, a hall closet, and a door with seven different external locks. The bedrooms all showed signs of hasty packing, and the medicine cabinet in the bathroom was emptied. Sam pulled a set of lock picks from her coat pocket and went to work on the sealed door. There wasn't much inside; a cot with a thin blanket, a worn desk and chair with a wobbly leg. An old wardrobe and an even older trunk with the initials H.P. etched into the worn brass catch plate.

"Do you think that kid really lived here?" Sam asked, picking the lock on the trunk.

"I hope not," Daniel answered, looking through the wardrobe. It seemed to contain nothing more than a few oversized t-shirts and socks. Daniel held his breath to listen. The only things he could hear were the tiny clicks and scratches as Sam worked the lock, and his not so quiet heart.

"There!" said Sam.

The latch gave way. Before she could put her hands on it, the lid burst open of its own accord. Something passed through the room. Daniel was tempted to call it a breeze, but it wasn't the air that moved. They looked down into the trunk, but it was empty.

"I think we should go," said Daniel.

Sam nodded silently and they both walked quickly to the door, glancing back at the empty trunk every few steps. Daniel and Sam knew they were very steady people. You didn't survive hundreds of firefights on alien worlds if you were skittish, but whatever chain reaction opening the trunk had started, they knew they wanted to be out of its way. They sped up as they got into the hall and as they reached the stairs they were running. The pounding of their feet on the creaking wood was almost loud enough to drown out the popping sounds coming from the front yard. Sam skidded to a stop before the front door. She looked out through the peep hole and saw nothing, despite the clank of heavy boots on the porch. She waved Daniel towards the back of the house, but he shook his head. There was a bang and a thump as the kitchen door was kicked open.

They scrambled through the living room, scattering end-tables and ceramic figures as they went, sprinting down another hall which dead ended in a small bathroom. Daniel closed the door behind them. Sam was already balanced on top of the toilet tank, trying to pry open the narrow window. The latch came loose easy enough but the window wouldn't budge. There were foot steps in the hall. She pulled off her jacket and wrapped it around her arm. The fogged glass shattered easily enough. She pulled herself up and out, tumbling onto the lawn on the east side of the house. Daniel's head and shoulders popped through the opening a second later, but he was very obviously stuck. Sam jumped up and grabbed his arm. She heard the bathroom door splinter apart and pulled. Daniel came loose with a hiss of pain, and blood blossomed across the front of his white shirt as they landed in a jumble on the lawn. He pulled a not so tiny bit of glass from the wound as they sprinted around the house.

"Stupefy!" someone in the front yard shouted.

A bright red light blazed across their path and others followed it, cutting them off from the embassy car. Sam sent a few shots from her zat blazing back, but her invisible assailants were apparently not in her line of fire. They retreated back around the side of the house. A high, ivy covered fence separated the Dursley's from their neighbors, and the younger half of SG1 had no trouble climbing it, or the next, or the next. They'd crossed sixteen backyards, two alleys, and a street before pausing assess their situation and breathe. They hunkered down on behind a low picket fence between two large terracotta gnomes. Sam pulled out her cell phone.

"Damn it!" she said, slapping it closed and returning it to her pocket.

"No signal?" guessed Daniel.

She nodded.

"Think they're still following us?" he asked.

She stood up part way and peered into the street. It looked empty.

"I don't think so, but we can't risk going back for the car," she said as she sat back down.

She checked her phone again.

"Maybe somebody will let us call from their house," suggested Daniel.

An hour and a half later, Daniel was starting to equate his dislike of the residence of Little Whining with his dislike of the Go'auld. Not only had he been completely unable to convince anyone to let him use their phone, he'd been told that "his sort" weren't welcome in their neighborhood. He supposed his blood stained shirt and grass stained pants weren't putting him in anyone's good books, but he usually had a talent for appealing to a person's sense of decency. He supposed he couldn't appeal to something that wasn't there.

He looked across the street and saw Sam waving from the front porch of a rather rundown house, triumph clear on her face. An elderly woman in a house coat and carpet slippers stood next to her, and cats ran in and out the open doorway. Daniel hurried over.

"Thank you so much," Sam was saying. "It will be a collect call." She paused and nodded towards him. "This is my friend Daniel. Daniel, this is Mrs. Figg."

The old woman nodded. She looked a bit suspicious as she caught sight of Daniel's shirt, but he held out his hand and gave her his most non-threatening smile.

"It's an honor to meet the only Good Samaritan in Surrey," he said.

She shook it and a little bit of color came into her cheeks.

"Wouldn't call myself a Samaritan or anything of that sort. Mr. Tibbles! Off that table! I was just raised better then most." She led them through a house cluttered with old newspapers and boxes of kitty litter, to a phone in the hall. "In my day we didn't turn people out on account of their clothes and accents." She handed the phone to Sam who began to dial. "You all look as if you could use a spot of tea," she concluded and wandered off to start the kettle.

Daniel followed her and helped set up the tea service. He tried without success to start a conversation concerning the relevance of tea ceremonies and their parallels in Japanese and English culture, but Mrs. Figg just gave him a blank look.

"How'd you come to be stranded here?" Mrs. Figg asked, as she shoed cats from one end of the counter to the other.

"We were trying to find Vernon and Petunia Dursley. Do you know them?" Daniel asked.

Mrs. Figg frowned. "I know them, and I don't see why anyone else would want to. What'd they do?"

"I don't know if they've done anything," Daniel said, "But a minor in their care ended up in the custody of the United States Air Force. The boy, Harry Potter, told us where to find them, but they apparently skipped town after we initially contacted them. They're behavior does seem a bit suspicious."

Mrs. Figg had nearly dropped her tea pot when Daniel dropped the name Harry, and now she was glaring at him suspiciously. "I used to baby-sit Harry when the Dursleys went on holiday. Is he alright?"

"Not really. He has some sort of medical condition that we can't make heads or tails of. We thought maybe the Dursleys would be able to help. You don't happen to know if he has any preexisting illness?"

The old woman turned to one of the cats on the counter. "Go find Moody," she ordered, and the cat darted away up the stairs.

She turned back to Daniel. "There was never much wrong with him that a few square meals wouldn't fix. He and his relatives had a bit of a falling out last summer, I don't know what about really. They've been telling everyone who'll stand still long enough that he ran away in London."

"They never filled a police report?"

Mrs. Figg snorted. "As far as I know they never bothered to file adoption papers for him either. He's a good boy, but they've never wanted anything to do with him."

They stood in a rather sad silence for several minutes, waiting for the kettle to boil. Daniel supposed that explained why the kid didn't seem to be in any hurry to get out of military custody. Figuring he should fish for more information he spoke again.

"Are you the one who gave Harry his cat?"

"His cat?" Mrs. Figg asked.

"He has a tabby cat with strange markings around the eyes. I thought maybe he got it from you."

Mrs. Figg smirked very faintly. "No, that cat found him on her own."

The tea was poured and set to seep. Daniel stuck his head into the hall.

"On hold," Sam said.

Daniel nodded. He returned to the kitchen where Mrs. Figg had set out a dozen assorted jars.

"If Harry's not going to be back for a while I need someone to open these for me," she said, and put a jar of pickles in Daniel's hand.

He opened three jars of pickles, two of tomato sauce, and one of coleslaw. He'd just put his hand on the lid of a strawberry jam when he heard a "pop" clearly out of time with his activities.

"Don't make too much of a mess," Mrs. Figg ordered.

"I'm not!" Daniel protested.

He turned, and realized she wasn't talking to him.

* * *

Glass shattered in the other room and Sam drew her zat. She set the phone down on the carpet and edged toward the kitchen. She was about to peer around the door frame when there was a loud pop behind her. She whirled. Red light flared up and she could see nothing else. Something slammed into the center of her chest and her head hit the wall. For a moment, everything went black.

She opened her eyes again and saw the edge of a cloak disappear through the doorway. Her zat was gone. As quietly as she could she got up on her hands and knees. The world went dark around the edges and spun. She squeezed her eyes shut. Whatever kind of stun weapon it was that hit her, it had some nasty side effects. There was more breaking glass in the kitchen and a yelp of surprised pain. She grabbed the doorframe and hauled herself upright. She leaned around the edge and looked into the room, taking it all in, in less than a second.

Daniel had a tall man with a red ponytail in a choke hold, with a large piece of broken glass pressed to his neck. Mrs. Figg stood in the corner by the door with one of her cats in her arms and a swarm of them around her feet. A man stood in front of Sam, with his back to her. He had a stick weapon aimed at Daniel. Despite the protests from her still spinning head she crept forward.

Daniel did his best not to draw attention to her, but the red haired man yelped a warning and the armed man turned. Sam dove and knocked the stick weapon from his hand. She couldn't get her balance and started to fall. She grabbed the front of the man's cloak and they both landed on the ground. Her head hit the tiles and she nearly blacked out again, but hung on, grabbing for his wrists. They rolled through pickle brine and Sam's legs hit the edge of a table.

Her attacker's cloak came off and she could see his ruined face and glowing artificial eye. She risked a glance a Daniel. The red haired man had gotten loose, and leapt towards a stick weapon that lay on the floor. Daniel grabbed up a jar and threw it, knocking the stick farther away and splattering the man in tomato sauce. Her attacker pulled her hair and her attention was drawn back to the fight.

They rolled across the floor again and Sam felt more pickle brine soak through the back of her shirt. She drove her knee hard into the man's midsection and knocked something off his belt. It clattered across the room and she realized it was her zat. She pushed the man away and scrambled towards it. Her hand closed over the grip. She whirled.

The man had taken a glass vile in his hand, and the world slowed down as they brought their weapons to bear. Sam's arms felt like lead as she pushed herself around with one and raised the zat with the other. The man had pushed the top off the vile and she saw the contents splashing over the rim, smoking droplets hitting the floor. There was the high chiming sound as the Zat charged up for a blast. The liquid hit her forehead and cheek.

She screamed. Her hand convulsively squeezed the trigger and an indigo light flashed before her eyes.

_Get it off! Get it off! Get it off!_ She could think of nothing else. The zat fell from her hands as she clawed at her face. Daniel was screaming her name, and the red light came again.

* * *

He opened his eyes in a dimly lit kitchen. The air smelled faintly of wood smoke and strongly of burned hair. Daniel tried not to gag. He tried to stand and found his wrists, ankles, and waist were bound to a chair. Something touched his shoulder and he gasped.

"Daniel?" asked a slurring voice.

"Sam? Are you alright?"

In the old woman's house he'd seen her screaming and clawing at her face. When he tried to get to her he'd been hit with a stun weapon. Now he was almost afraid to look. He twisted his neck and saw her slumped forward against similar bonds, in a chair that was back to back with his.

"…hurts, but I'll live."

She turned and he saw her in profile. The eyes were the only thing he recognized. Her skin was some combination of melted wax and raw hamburger. Most of her hair had burned away.

"Is it…that bad?" she asked.

He tried to make himself look reassuring. "We'll find a way to fix it."

There was a creak on the far side of the kitchen and a rectangle of light appeared. At first he thought it was a dog, but it straightened up slightly as it stepped across the threshold and he saw it was bipedal. It made a low croaking vocalization, and despite his years of training in linguistics, he almost didn't realize the creature was speaking English.

"What is this in my mistress' house?" it asked, shuffling closer.

As Daniel's eyes adjusted to the new light source he could make out its features more clearly. It had something akin to a human face but the proportions were all wrong. Its ears stood out like sails. The eyes were huge, but clouded with cataracts and surrounded in a gummy substance that caused the lids to stick for a moment as it blinked. The nose was long and pointed, and the mouth was so small it was nearly indiscernible from the other deep lines in the creature's face. It was naked except for a dirty towel wrapped around its boney hips.

"Hello?" said Daniel, trying to sound friendly.

"It talks to Kreacher. As if Kreacher cares! All the filth they bring into my mistress' home. All the traitors and the mud bloods and the half bloods and werewolves. Kreacher would cut off his own head to avoid it. He would gouge his eyes out to not see it, but his mistress needs him."

"How…thoughtful of you. Could you get your mistress please? I think there's been some kind of misunderstanding and we'd really appreciate a chance to speak with her about it."

"It thinks the mistress would help it!" the creature sniggered to itself. "She would burn the filthy muggle on first sight. She would burn it screaming. She would cleanse the world of filth. Kreacher only stays to finish her work!"

"Leave them alone Kreacher," called a new voice from the doorway.

As the stranger entered, he waved his hand and all around the room lamps came to life in sudden bursts of blue flame. The new man was dressed in robes, similar to the ones their attackers wore, but his clothes were patched and worn. His face and hands were thin and pale. He did not seem very old, but his light brown hair was shot through with gray. The creature stood up straighter and glared at the man with seething hatred.

"The werewolf thinks it can order Kreacher about, thinks it can walk with impunity in my mistress' house."

The creature spit at the man's feet. The man's face went blank and when he spoke his voice was strangely flat.

"The werewolf can order you about, because this is his house now. Perhaps you should have considered what would become of it and you before you helped murder its previous owner."

"Kreacher does not…Kreacher will not…"

"Go dust the parlor please, then clean up two guest rooms on the second floor. Also we're expecting a crowd at dinner, so clear out the chimney as well."

The creature looked as if it wanted to argue, but shuffled to the door anyway. For a moment Daniel considered asking it to stay, as he'd never seen that species before, but as Kreacher shot him a final loathing glance, he decided against it. When it was in the hallway the man waved his hand and the door shut itself. He walked to a row of cabinets along the wall, and began to riffle through them. He opened several jars and sniffed the contents, before settling on an old earthenware one, covered in dust. He walked around to Sam.

"If you'll tilt your chin up Miss?" the man said in slightly sad voice. "This will take care of the worst of that."

Daniel twisted around in his chair and saw the man slathering a thick orange paste all over Sam's disfigured face.

"Tell me if it starts to sting, some people are allergic to it," he continued.

"Feels cool," Sam muttered.

When Sam's face was covered entirely in the bright orange goop, the man went to the sink and washed his hands.

"Any other injuries?" he asked as he dried his hands on a dish towel.

"Nothing serious," Daniel answered. "But we'd appreciate being untied."

"I have no problem with that, if you promise you'll not try and run off. You wouldn't make it much past the parlor anyway."

"I think we can behave ourselves for an hour or two at least," said Daniel.

He looked at Sam for confirmation and she nodded weakly. The man took a stick weapon from his sleeve and waved it at them, muttering something under his breath. The ropes that bound them melted into smoke. Daniel stood up and nearly fell over, discovering that his legs were asleep. Sam caught his elbow. They both looked toward the kitchen door, fifteen feet away.

"Would either of you care for tea?" the man asked, interrupting fantasies of escape.

"Yeah, sure," said Daniel. He and Sam seated themselves at the long wooden table in the center of the room. The man went to the cabinets and returned a moment later with a large tea set, and a plate of cookies. He tapped the teapot with the stick weapon and it gushed steam and whistled. He poured them each a cup, but as Sam tried to drink from hers she let out a surprised grumble.

"What's wrong?" Daniel asked.

" kann oove I outh!" she said.

Her hand went to the orange paste on her face which had hardened into thick immobile crust.

"I'm sorry about that," said their host. "I'd forgotten about the interactions of the mandrake and the willow…never mind."

He picked up his tea spoon and tapped it with the stick weapon. The spoon shimmered for a moment before settling into the shape of a chop stick. The man frowned and tapped it again. The chop stick glowed and then turned into a straw. He placed it in Sam's tea.

"I'm afraid that will have to do until the paste has done its job. It shouldn't be more than an hour."

Sam nodded. For a few moments they all sipped their tea in silence, until Daniel broke it.

"Who are you, by the way?"

The man set down his cup and held out his hand. "Remus Lupin," he answered. "I'd say 'well met', but these are hardly the best circumstances for introductions."

The archaeologist nodded in agreement. "I'm Daniel. This is Sam."

There were more hand shakes and nods.

"In reference to my first question," Daniel said. "Who are you?"

"Aside from my name there isn't much I can say that would mean anything to you."

"But you work for the same organization that kidnapped us from Little Whining?"

Lupin nodded. "We hadn't meant to approach things so…indiscreetly, but you walked right into a Ministry trap, and we couldn't leave you out there for them to find. I think you already know you're in the middle of something very unusual. Right now you're in the custody of the most scrupulous aspect of that something."

Daniel raised an eyebrow and looked toward Sam, who seemed to be dozing beneath the orange mask.

Lupin sighed. "I suppose that gives you some idea of how bad the rest of it is then? And it's gotten so much worse in the last few days. We barely know which way is up any longer."

"Some kind of civil war?" Daniel ventured.

Lupin shrugged. "It not quite as well defined as that, but it is quite a mess."

"And whenever someone outside your group steps in it they disappear? Or worse?" Daniel pressed.

"No," Lupin said defensively. "They're memories are erased, and they're put back the way they were before they stumbled across us."

" en air er all a odies uming urm?" Sam asked pointedly.

"Then where are all the bodies coming from?" translated Daniel.

Lupin poured himself more tea. "You were in one of those large cars fleeing Little Hangleton two weeks ago? I believe I saw you when I flew over."

Daniel nodded. He was almost desperate to ask about the flying on broom sticks aspect of their society, but Lupin didn't give him a chance to voice his question.

"The group you were fleeing from is the group that is killing muggles left and right. They are rather bent on genocide and are becoming harder and harder to control. Only two things kept their leader, Voldemort, from taking more drastic action and now neither of those things is available to us."

"And those two things were?" prompted Daniel.

"Voldemort's old school teacher and a Prophesy made by a fraudulent psychic. He's lost his fear of his teacher and the subject of the Prophesy is lost to us."

"What does this have to do with us?" asked Daniel.

Lupin looked him in the eyes suddenly. "This morning the Ministry, our government, announced that Harry Potter was murdered, somewhere in the United States. Every source at our disposal confirms that horrible news is true, but I can't make my self believe it. I think you know what happened to him."

"I can't tell you anything that would help you, in that regard." Daniel said.

"What can you tell me then?"

"Nothing beyond vague speculation, without the permission of my government."

"Alright, what vague speculation can I have?" Lupin asked.

"Hypothetically, isn't it better for everyone to think Harry Potter is dead? In my experience people rarely try to murder someone who's already passed on."

Lupin stared at him, and Daniel looked back, trying to keep eye contact. He was fairly certain he saw Lupin's nostrils flare several times, as if he was sniffing the air.

"But, Hypothetically, Harry would be safe and out of harms way?" Lupin said.

Daniel took another sip from his tea cup. "Hypothetically, yes."

"And how would we go about bringing him home?"

"In theory, you'd have to prove you weren't a threat to him or anyone else on this planet. It wouldn't be very difficult to work out a treaty with the U.N., with a nondisclosure clause of course. They'd likely even help you deal with your current political unrest if you were willing to reveal something useful to them."

"Useful things like-"

The door burst open and in stomped the man with the glowing artificial eye. Sam tensed but there wasn't anything even remotely weapon like within reach. Not that she looked ready for another round with him.

"Lupin! What the hell are you doing?" He roared at the top of his lungs. "You're supposed to be guarding them not serving them biscuits!"

"Hello Alastor," Lupin replied calmly. "I need a word with you in private, if you have a moment."

Lupin stood up, nodded to them, politely, and then walked with the man named Alastor into the hall, shutting the door behind them.

* * *

He sealed the door and sound proofed it.

"You threw Thoth's elixir in that muggle woman's face Alastor," said Lupin, not trying to hide his reproach.

"What's your point Lupin? There was a fight. She's not dead and you've just used several dozen galleons worth of restorative salve on her. What can you have to complain about?"

"I am complaining about you methods. We're better then that Alastor. That's the whole point of the Order. We're better then that."

"We don't have time for this moral-high-ground garbage. The Order is flying apart, six ways till Sunday. We can't take chances with what we've got left."

"If we're going about acting like Death Eaters then we don't have anything left!"

Moody shook his head. "You were always too soft for this sort of thing, Lupin, that's why you never made it as an Auror."

"Really? I thought it had more to do with my monthly affliction and the Ministries zero tolerance policies."

"Damn it Lupin, not everything revolves around you being a werewolf!"

"And not everything revolves around you being a retired Auror. Those people know something, and despite the substantial amount of truth serum I've slipped into their tea, they have yet to divulge it. They've escaped Voldemort and the Ministry both, and the only reason you caught them is because they had the bad judgment to trust Mrs. Figg. They know where Harry was taken, and they don't think he's dead. I don't either."

"You're deluding yourself, Remus," he said a bit more gently. "The boy died."

"Then where is the body Alastor? We've tried to use locator spells, but they can't find a trace of him. He's not anywhere we can find him. They know something. They are not normal muggles. If they can hide him from Voldemort and Dumbledore, they could be able to help us."

"We don't need help from Muggles!"

"We need help from anyone who'll give it. The Ministry is falling apart. The Order is too small to deal with this, the international magical community has left us hanging, and whether you'll admit it or not, Dumbledore is losing it. They can help and they've already offered to."

"We're getting Snape back, we're obliviating the muggles, and we're not going to waste anymore time on this!"

"This is a mistake Alastor. We don't know enough yet. With a little more time-"

"Time's up, Lupin."


	9. Surrey Interlude: Part II

**Disclaimed!**

**Authors Note:** Sorry this update took so long, finals and midterms and all that loveliness. Well, here's the next chapter, hopefully I haven't lost all my readers.

**Crumpets Aren't My Style**

**By Marz**

**Surrey Interlude Part II**

Samantha Carter thought she had to be in the strangest interrogation ever. She and Daniel sat across from their captors, drinking cup after cup of slightly bitter tea. Whenever Sam's cup was empty, Lupin would stand up and lean across the table, seeming slightly embarrassed, to pour her a refill. The man with the artificial eye, called Alastor by his companion, just sat there glaring at them. Sam was fairly certain there was some kind of sedative or psychoactive drug in the tea, but aside from a strange buzzing in her ears she didn't feel all that affected, though she would desperately need a trip to the ladies room in about twenty minutes. Daniel seemed to reach his tea capacity slightly ahead of her.

"Not that this isn't very civil," Daniel started, pushing his cup and saucer away, "But could you please get to the point?"

The man called Alastor stood up, glaring at Daniel with his real eye. The artificial one was looking at something on the ceiling.

"How many guards are on duty at the embassy?" he growled.

"That information is classified," Daniel replied. He seemed to be suppressing a sigh.

Alastor looked to Sam. "How many guards?"

" Ah-if-eyed" she mumbled through the orange plaster mask.

Alastor turned and glared at Lupin, who raised an eyebrow and shrugged. There seemed to be some sort of I-told-you-so passing between them.

"We don't have time for this," Alastor growled.

Sam was wondering if the way he spoke was due to the hideous scars on his face and throat, or just an attempt to frighten them. Alastor took a stick weapon from his pocket and pointed it at them.

"_Petrificus totalus_."

A blue light shot from the weapon and struck her in the chest. Another light flew past her and she was fairly certain it struck Daniel, though she couldn't turn her head to check. The only things still under her control were her eyes. She couldn't decide if she was in some sort of projected stasis field or if the blast had simply done something to her nervous system. Lupin walked across her line of sight.

"Alastor-" he started to say.

"Save it Lupin. Go get the pensieve."

She heard him walk out the door and a few minutes later he came back, carrying a large stone bowl filled with a strange glowing substance, that looked like a paler version of the Stargate's event horizon. She was certainly not going to be drinking any of that. Lupin stopped before her, holding the bowl so she could see into it without moving her head. Alastor stepped up beside him, and stirred the shimmering substance with the stick weapon. A shadowy image formed on the surface, rapidly swimming into focus. A moment later, the sour face of Mr. Smith was glaring up at her. Moody pressed the stick weapon to the side of her head.

"Where is he?"

She tried to glare at him, but a moment later she realized he wasn't threatening her. There was a strange feeling in her scalp, as if someone were pulling her hair, but painless. He pulled the stick weapon away, and she saw a strange silvery thread clinging to it. He dropped the thread in the bowl and the image changed. She saw the corridor outside the room where Mr. Smith was locked up. She saw the four guards on duty and she watched as a hand, which she belatedly realized was hers, swipe her security pass through the electronic lock, then type in her access code.

"Good," growled Alastor. "Now, how many guards on duty outside the embassy?"

It took her several minutes to figure out how to block the stream of thoughts her captor seemed to so easily pull from her mind. Fortunately Alastor spent most of the interrogation asking about the embassy security. By the time he started asking about zats and her C.O. she had learned to give them nothing but clips from a bad Van Dam movie she and Teal'c had watched a few months earlier. They moved on to Daniel, but he was able to adapt and block them out even more quickly then she had.

She heard Alastor growling from a few feet to her left. "Doesn't matter. We have what we need. Lock them up, Lupin."

A few seconds later, Lupin walked past, and out the door. Daniel floated out the door after him. He was frozen in a sitting position. He looked at her as he passed but couldn't speak. A few minutes later Lupin came back. He waved his stick weapon at her and she rose up off the bench like some mad balloon. She floated out the door after him.

The rest of the building was so bizarre she nearly forgot her predicament. She couldn't help but think of the Haunted Mansion ride at Disneyland. It seemed a hundred lifetimes ago. Her father had taken a very rare day off to drive her and her brother out to Anaheim. Her brother had put gum in her hair. She watched in amazement as the paintings and suits of armor that lined the halls turned to look at her as she passed. Add a long line and some creepy narration, and she would be there.

Lupin pushed open the door of a dusty old bedroom. As he entered the lamps flared to life. He floated her over the bed.

"_Finite_."

Whatever energy field had been holding her still and holding her up disappeared, and she landed with a little grunt on the dusty comforter. She flailed a bit before she was able to sit upright. Lupin was still standing there watching her.

"I wanted to apologize again. This isn't how…this isn't how things are supposed to be," he finished lamely.

"Mrt er ut eee?" Sam attempted to speak through the orange paste without much luck.

"Your friend is entirely safe. He's in the room right across the hall. You'll be released as soon as we've retrieved Snape. I'm certain."

"Mrt er ut isss?" she tried to ask, pointing at the crusty orange mask that covered her face.

"Oh, of course. It's been nearly an hour hasn't it?"

Lupin reached towards her almost timidly and dug his fingers into the mask on either side of her face. The hardened paste cracked and split as he pressed in, but it came away in one piece, stinging slightly as it went. Sam blinked and brushed the remaining crumbs from her eyes, surprised by the feel of her skin.

"Almost as good as new," Lupin said, stepping back.

He looked down at the impression her face had left in the mask. He turned it a bit, getting different light. Sam saw quite a bit of her hair had come away with it. She looked across the room and saw herself in an old bronze mirror on the opposite wall. Except for the loss of her eyebrows, her face appeared entirely healed.

"Believe it or not," Lupin said, still looking down at the mask in his hands. "This was brewed up by the sour faced man you've locked up in the basement of your embassy."

Lupin stepped towards the door.

"Someone will bring you dinner in about an hour. You shouldn't be here much longer. Again, I apologize."

With a sort of half bow he backed out the door and closed it behind him.

Sam waited several minutes before she tried the knob. It was, of course locked, but didn't look all that sturdy. She kicked it as hard as she could, and succeeded in landing on her backside with an aching foot. She tried a few more times to no effect. She went to the walls next, tapping on the sheetrock to find the studs. She pulled loose one of the bedposts, but found herself unable to break through the wall with it, or even dent the plaster. She checked all four walls and found them to be equally sound. Frustrated she threw the post to the floor. The faint splintering sound it made inspired her to tear up the carpet.

* * *

The creaking came again, and then there was a sharp crack. The noise had started a few minutes after he'd been locked in the room by Lupin. Daniel knelt and pressed his ear to the floor. There was another cracking sound and the board beneath his ear rattled. He backed up, and looked around the room for a weapon. One of the boards in the floor buckled and split and a familiar and dirty shoe appeared in the space. Daniel scrambled forward and helped pull up the other boards, so Sam could squeeze out.

The orange paste was gone and so were her eyebrows. She was covered in dirt, spider webs, and a strange gooey gray substance that Daniel didn't want to look at too closely. She coughed into her hand and took a moment to wipe her face.

"We can get out under the floors. There's about a foot of space between us and the first floor ceiling. We can break through above a hall and we'll make a run for the door."

"Sounds good," said Daniel, though really he meant to say 'sounds claustrophobic.'

Sam disappeared back into the floor and he climbed in after her. Immediately he had to sneeze. He dragged himself along on his stomach using just his arms. There wasn't enough room to bend his knees. He wouldn't have minded the tight dark space nearly so much if it wasn't for the skittering sounds that came up and down the boards on either side of him. He could almost convince himself it was only mice, except every once in a while, something would giggle.

Every few feet he would reach out and tap the bottom of Sam's foot to let her know he was still behind her. It was almost pitch black, since most of the rooms were carpeted. He wanted to squeeze his eyes shut as he crawled. It seemed cowardly but he was certain he was starting to hallucinate. It seemed as if hundreds of pairs of faintly glowing eyes were staring at him from the darkness a few feet away. His fingers bumped the bottom of Sam's shoe again. She'd stopped moving.

"Are we above the hall?" he whispered.

She didn't answer.

"Sam!" he hissed a little louder. "Are we there yet?"

Still no answer. He grabbed her foot and shook it. It felt strangely cold.

"SAM!" he shouted. He started to crawl up next to her.

"Daniel?" called a faint voice far to his left. The voice was definitely Sam's.

His heart was nearly deafening. He reached out. The space around him was empty.

"S-Sam? Can you hear me?"

"Daniel? Where'd you go?"

He scrambled toward the sound of her voice as fast as he could, scraping most of the skin off his fingers as he went.

"Sam! There's something in here with us!"

As he crawled, he heard things moving on either side of him.

"What?" she seemed to be getting farther away.

Something slithered over his fingers and he froze. Four glowing red eyes peered at him, only a few inches from the end of his nose. The parasite hissed, and all around in the dark other Go'auld hissed in response. It darted at his throat.

He was aware he was shouting and trying to roll away. He wasn't sure how he broke through the ceiling. Wood, plaster and bits of insulation rained down with him and the swarm of Go'auld parasites. As soon as he pulled one from his neck another would squirm up in its place. Some small part of his mind was telling him that the parasites could not have been living in the dry airless environment of the crawl space, but that part was overwhelmed by the part of him that existed in absolute terror of one of those creatures chewing its way into his cerebellum.

He didn't realize there were other people in the room until a blast of red light swept the swarm away from him. The parasites melted away to smoke. He looked to his saviors, who turned out to be a group of red-haired teenagers playing cards on the floor.

"It's coming back," said the only girl in the group, as she slowly lay down her cards.

Daniel looked over his shoulder, and in the next instant he was scrambling across the floor away from the largest spider he'd ever seen.

"I think that one's yours, Ronniekins," said one of the boys, whose stick weapon was already aimed at the monstrous arachnid.

"Don't call me that!" said the tallest boy, as he drew a stick weapon from the sleeve of his robe. "_Riddikulus!"_

A flash of light flew from the weapon and struck the spider and its legs vanished. "Ha!" the boy crowed triumphantly, and the creature vanished in a puff of shadows.

"Thank you," Daniel said, shakily.

"What were you doing in the ceiling?" asked one of the shorter boys, who Daniel noticed had an identical twin standing next to him.

He didn't think "inspecting for asbestos" would go over too well. The kids didn't seem alarmed by his arrival, though. He supposed they got a lot of guests arriving in unusual ways. _Right_, he thought, _I just have to pretend to be part of a culture I know nothing about. No problem. _

"You know, I'm not really sure," answered Daniel. "I thought I was going to end up in the kitchen, like last time," he added for good measure.

The tall boy nodded. "Bet it was Mundungus that made your port key. He's been kind of hungover lately."

The twins glared at him, but he just shrugged.

"Could any of you tell me where I might find Remus Lupin?" Daniel asked.

"He's usually in the parlor. It's down the next hall, first door on the right," the girl provided.

"Who's that?" one of the twins asked.

Daniel looked up and saw Sam looking down at him from the hole he'd kicked in the ceiling.

"Don't worry Sam. It's the right house, just the wrong place," Daniel said, surreptitiously gesturing for her to play along.

Sam dropped out of the ceiling and landed with undue grace next to him.

"Hello," she said to the red heads. "Sorry about the mess," she continued smiling.

The tallest boy, and, Daniel was starting to suspect, the youngest, smiled back.

"No problem," he said, waiving his stick weapon. "Reparo!"

The rubble sprung upwards and the ceiling healed up flawlessly. Sam nodded appreciatively, and the boy seemed to glow for a moment before the girl elbowed him in the ribs.

"Mum's going to yell at you," muttered the girl.

The boy paled for a second before turning to glare at the girl. "How's she going to know?"

"Remus was where?" Daniel interrupted.

* * *

"That was the third group of Americans this week," said Ginny as she settled down again, picking up her cards.

"At least this group didn't end up in Kreacher's closet. That was an awful mess," said George.

"Mundungus really needs to work on his aim," said Fred.

"Do you think we should have asked them about Harry?" Ron asked. He made a movement towards the door as if he really intended to go and ask them.

"You want to walk in on them right as they tell mum how you used underage magic to impress a pretty witch with your ceiling-fixing skills?" Fred asked, trying to distract his brother before he started himself brooding over the whereabouts of his best friend again.

"She wasn't that pretty," Ron said in his own defense.

Fred was about to dig in when the loud and unmistakable howl of Mrs. Black's portrait came echoing up the hall.

"Guess they missed a turn," snickered George.

Footsteps thundered by the door and they scrambled over to see what was going on. Bill and the new recruit Milton disappeared around the end of the hall and the four youngest Weasley children scrambled after them. Bill noticed them almost immediately.

"Get back in that room! Two prisoners just got loose!"

They traded surprised glances, and Ron squeaked "Prisoners?" in a small voice.

"These prisoners wouldn't happen to be a man with glasses and a blonde lady with no eyebrows, would they?" called George.

Bill stopped short and turned.

"What have you done?"

* * *

Private Dwayne Washington stood in his booth watching the fog and wishing for coffee. His eyes kept trying to sneak closed whenever he let his attention wander. He knew he shouldn't have stayed up all night playing Halo 2 with Corporal Nyuen. He stifled another yawn as two figures emerged from the obscured street. They approached the security station. Dwayne leaned out of his booth to check the new comers I.D.s. The man pulled back the hood of his coat and Dwayne couldn't help but smile.

"Hey Dr. Jackson! Car trouble?" he asked taking the I.D. and handing over the sign in sheet.

Dr. Jackson looked confused for a moment. He pushed his glasses further up his nose. "Er…yes. We ran out of fuel."

Dwayne glanced at the sign in sheet as it was returned. The signature looked correct, but he would have sworn Dr. Jackson had signed with his left hand this time.

"Do' ya need me to send somebody for it, Sir? Or call up a tow truck?" Dwayne asked.

"No! No, that won't be necessary. I just need to get some…fuel. The car is only a few blocks away."

"Alright sir."

He reached out for Colonel Carter's I.D. She wasn't really looking at him though. Her attention seemed focused on something in the misty street.

"Is everything alright ma'am?"

"Yes. All's well," she said.

Dwayne knew some people picked up a bit of an accent when stationed over seas, but the Colonel sounded borne and raised British for a moment there. She signed in and Dwayne waved to the guards on the inside of the gate, to let them in. Then they were gone, and Dwayne was left struggling to keep his eyes open. He wondered what was wrong with Dr. Jackson. The guy was kind of a nerd, but usually very friendly, always recommending museums and exhibits and crap like that.

A little later he was jerked out of his half stupor by the sound of pounding feet. Two figures darted out of the fog, heading straight for his booth. They skidded to a stop in front of him gasping for breath. He did a double take.

"Dr. Jackson?" he asked, looking to the guards on the inside of the gate. They shrugged.

Dr. Jackson and Colonel Carter stood before him. They were covered in dust and dirt and their clothing was ripped.

"I…need…to…talk…with the…with Corporal…Andrews. Or whoever is on duty right now," Dr. Jackson gasped out.

"I…I'll need your I.D. sir," Dwayne said.

"Our I.D.s were stolen," Carter said. "I need to talk to the head of security, right now!"

"But-"

"This is an emergency, Private," Carter said.

He realized her eyebrows were missing.

"But, you checked in fifteen minutes ago!"

Carter and Jackson exchanged baffled glances.

"Put the embassy on alert!" Cater ordered. "Call the security office, ask them where Dr. Jackson and Colonel Carter are right now!"

"What?"

"Tell them to locate us using the security cameras!"

Dwayne snatched up his phone and obeyed. It took them a minute

"Sir you're also on the security cameras in the secure elevator."

"Get security down there right now. Don't let any of those people leave!"

"But-"

"Now!"

"Yes sir!"

The next few minutes were a confused mess. He sent out orders to apprehend Dr. Jackson and Colonel Carter, and armed guards were sent after them, all of them. He watched uncertainly as four men came to the front gate to escort Dr. Jackson and Carter inside. Dwayne tried to explain that he meant the other Dr. Jackson and Carter but there seemed to be a matter of semantics that could not be over come. As they were dragged away the red light in his computer consul came on, indicating high alert status. He sighed. At least he was no longer in danger of falling asleep.

* * *

Snape ignored the polite knock on the door and continued to pick over the crossword puzzle. Most wizards would insist that they had a language in common with muggles, but Snape was not at all convinced. _A seven letter word for an enviable sports car? The first letter is F_. The door was pushed open. He was facing the door so he saw them come in. Carter and Jackson he believed they were called. He ignored them, as they closed the door behind them. He would have gone on ignoring them, except Jackson pointed at him and exclaimed in a rather high voice "Snape! What in Merlin's Mad Menagerie is 'at fing on your head?"

"How nice of you to stop by Nymphadora," he said in an icy voice. "I hope neither of you is missing an important Quidditch match to come get me?"

"We don't have time for chit-chat and bickering," Carter growled in a tone that could belong to no one other then Mad-eye Moody. "It's your own fault for getting captured in the first place."

"Of course. You fools can't keep Potter from wandering into the Dark Lord's chambers, so naturally this is my fault."

"I think that bucket on your head is negatively affecting your disposition," Tonks said as she went through her pockets.

Something slammed into the door, but none of the wizards seemed concerned.

"What have you been telling the muggles, Snape?" growled Moody.

"I haven't mentioned our world actually, but perhaps this is something we should stop and discuss after we are out of muggle influence? I trust one of you remembered to bring a portkey?"

Tonks smiled at him, finally producing a colorful silk handkerchief. "It'll take you straight back to headquarters."

He snatched it away without a thank you, and disappeared. The banging on the door increased in volume and the wood started to splinter. Tonks leaned over the crossword Snape had been filling out.

"Ferrari," she said, pointing at the final blank space.

Moody rolled his eyes, and dissaparated.

* * *

Daniel sighed and rubbed his forehead. The impostors and the prisoner had some how disappeared in the confusion of the previous night. He and Sam had spent the rest of the night in the security office, trying to sort out the identity theft, change their codes, and get all the necessary tapes classified.

"At least they didn't write any bad checks on our behalf," he muttered.

Sam snorted faintly, but was too tired to humor him more then that. She sat typing away at her computer. She was trying to figure out where they had been held prisoner the day before, but retracing her steps and going over maps was futile. They could both remember the inside of the house with prefect clarity, but after they burst out the front door, there was nothing either of them could consistently recall, not even how many blocks they'd run to make it back to the embassy. Her cell phone rang.

"Yes sir. No sir. No sir. Yes sir. No sir." After several more minutes of one sided conversation she hung up, and turned to Daniel. "We're being transferred to another assignment."

"What?"

"That was General Briggs at The Pentagon. They're still out of contact with the SGC, so he's issuing orders. We're to report back to U.S. within twenty four hours."

"But…" Daniel said, pausing a tape that showed nothing but a glaring red light, "but we're really onto something with the Dursley family. Twenty four hours? That may be enough time to track down Mrs. Figg-"

"We've also been ordered to cease all investigations until we've been debriefed."

"Do you think?" Daniel started to ask.

"Better not say anything until we've talked to General O'Neill."

Daniel nodded and adjusted his glasses. He didn't think he would miss London all that much.


	10. Other Oppertunities

**Crumpets Aren't My Style**

**By Marz**

**Other Opportunities**

There was a sharp, stinging pain across his chest whenever he breathed in. The curtains around the bed looked as if they were made of foggy sheets of plastic. That didn't make much sense to Harry, but at that moment, very little did. He was sure that if the room would stop spinning, he'd be able to puzzle things out. There was someone standing at the end of his bed, watching him. He stood on the outside of the curtain, barely more then a shadow, but Harry was certain he recognized him. He vaguely recalled seeing the same shadow before, but he didn't know if it was earlier that day or months before. Whenever he could keep his eyes open, the shadow was where they rested. Harry had something to say, to explain to the strange figure hovering just out of reach, but it took forever to find the words.

"I'm sorry," he choked out around the tube in his throat.

The shadow leaned closer against the curtains, a misty, poorly defined palm pressed against them.

"I'm sorry you died…my fault…so sorry…didn't know."

The shadow moved, circling the curtains, but made no further move to approach. Harry wanted to get up from his bed. He wanted to push past the curtains, and explain face to face, but his legs wouldn't move, nor his arms. Just trying to move them stole all his strength away.

"I'm sorry," he said one last time before drifting off again.

* * *

"Did you hit the call button?" Dr. Morris asked as he strode into the isolation ward.

"I did," replied the alien.

Morris waited for him to continue but the alien just stood there staring at him. His half-lidded eyes gave him a peaceful and almost sleepy expression, but Morris wasn't fooled by it. The golden symbol branded into the alien's forehead told him very clearly what this being was capable of.

"Well?" Morris prompted.

"Approximately fourteen minutes ago I attempted to summon you because I heard HarryPotter speaking," the alien said.

"You didn't open the curtains, did you?" Morris asked, eyes darting to the plastic curtains that temporarily separated the burn unit from the rest of the infirmary. "If he's going to live, that area has to remain sterile!"

"I did not open the curtains. I summoned you because HarryPotter regained consciousness. He is most likely disoriented. I could not hear him clearly but I believe he was calling for assistance."

"Yes, yes fine. I'll do a quick check up, but we've given him a large dose of painkillers. I doubt he's awake."

"I heard him speak," the alien said.

"I'm sure you thought you did. You'll have to leave."

"Please inform me when you are finished," the alien said.

"Alright, fine."

The alien nodded. Morris noted it was regular nod, rather then the formal half bow he usually gave to other humans on the base. The alien walked out, but Morris could see him standing in the hallway right outside the door. He picked up the phone on the wall and punched in the extension for Lieutenant Rogers.

"Infirmary now!" he barked into the receiver as soon as Rogers picked up.

He slammed it back into the cradle and went to the locker to find fresh scrubs. Rogers scuttled into the room a few minutes later, still looking disheveled and only half awake. Upon seeing Morris, he went to his locker and began to change as well. They slipped on their face masks and stepped through the outer layer of plastic where a series of pipes and fans circulated an antiseptic mist through the air. They pushed on to through the second curtain with barely a pause.

"Did you give him the sedative at 0800?" Morris asked quietly.

The security cameras and microphones were still on, but the curtains muffled sound and obscured their forms to blurred outlines. Still, if someone started shouting the security office would probably notice something was up.

"I did. He should have stayed out for another twelve hours at least," Rogers said.

The boy watched them with slightly glazed eyes. He was trying to talk around the breathing tube taped into his mouth, but it was a very effective gag. He pulled at the padded straps that held his wrists and ankles to the rails on the sides of the bed. Morris went to the cart by the bedside and picked up a syringe.

"We'll have to increase the dosage."

He injected the faintly yellow liquid into the I.V. The boy's struggles faded and his head lolled to the side. Morris leaned in to inspect the rapidly healing skin on the boy's chest. His regenerative abilities weren't quite as good as those of a Jaffa or Goa'uld, but they were definitely superior to those of a human. The thick band of darkened tissue that depicted a skull and snake were the only part of him showing no signs of recovery.

"Is everything still on schedule?" Rogers asked.

Morris nodded.

"Good," Rogers whispered. "I think Teal'c is starting to suspect something."

Morris swallowed to hide his nervousness that suddenly tightened his throat. "Just keep cool. We'll be out of here in three days. Just keep cool until then."

The alien was still waiting outside when Rogers left, and reentered the infirmary without invitation.

"I didn't see any indication that he'd regained consciousness. Are you sure you heard something?"

"I am."

"I'll make a note of it," Morris said, sounding put-upon.

The alien raised an eyebrow, then took up his usual post, standing at attention a few feet away from the curtains of the burn unit. Morris sat down at the desk and began filling out paperwork, trying not to think about what would happen to them if Stargate Command caught on.

* * *

The alpha site gate room was much smaller then that of the SGC. Consoles and monitors were arranged just out of reach of the Expanding event horizon created when a wormhole was opened. The alpha site was smaller, less protected and less armed then the SGC, and their greatest defense was secrecy. They were the emergency back up position all SG teams headed for when the Earth's Stargate was unavailable. The staff prided themselves on being just as if not more prepared for trouble then the home world.

Teal'c stood by the console with Colonel Pierce, watching the crew load supplies onto a cart. Doctor Morris and a medical team were taking antibiotics, water purifiers, and other supplies to P3X117, a small human inhabited world on the edge of Ba'al's territory. There had been a massive outbreak of cholera and the System Lord was unlikely to render assistance. Alpha site would start humanitarian aide operations, laying the ground work while Earth got a larger delivery ready. Teal'c noticed Morris watching him with something not unlike a smirk on his face.

As soon as the supplies were through, Teal'c would be transmitting his report to earth. He was going to request that O'Neill replace Morris as head of the medical staff. He had no proof that the man had something untoward planned, but his instincts were telling him that the man could not be trusted.

* * *

The air was thick and stuffy. Harry's legs and arms cramped painfully and he tried to move, only to strike hard surfaces in every direction. There was no light. His head was pounding painfully and his ears were ringing. He remembered being in a hospital. He remembered doctors looking at him, but the rest was a blur. Each breath came faster and faster.

_I'm running out of air_, he thought.

It made sense then.

_They must've thought I was dead and…and…_

He pounded on the sides of the box again. He wanted to push against the opposite walls of the box, to force it open, but he realized then that his hands were tied. He tried to kick and found his legs were tied together as well. Since people usually don't bother to tie up a corpse he came to the conclusion that he was being kidnapped rather then prematurely buried. He pounded on the sides of the box again.

_Death Eaters…_

But that thought faded as memories worked their way through the cluttered mess that was currently functioning as his brain. The doctors--they were different. They weren't the doctors Mr. O'Neill had sent him to. They'd tied him down. They were always muttering to each other as they poked at him and gave him shots, but he could only recall a few words.

_Experiment…samples…vivisection…_

He didn't know what to think, but he knew he had to get out. He thought of calling for help, but if they knew he was awake they'd just come back with needles and give him more drugs. If he could do some sort of magic the Ministry would probably come in to arrest him. He didn't want to be dragged into another trial for underage magic, but he didn't see any other options. But without a wand he couldn't cast any spells. His only other option was accidental magic.

_Which of course I can't control_, he thought.

It had been three years since he'd been emotionally out of control enough to blow anything up. Accidental magic only seemed to work when he was terrified or enraged. He tried to get angry, tried to think about how unjust it was to drug him and put him in a box, but all he felt was depressed. He hadn't been able to get really angry since Dumbledore had revealed the truth of the events surrounding his parents' murder and Sirius' death, and how easily he could have prevented the latter. As the box suddenly tilted and was set with a thump onto another surface that started rolling toward an unknown, but no doubt unpleasant fate, he felt a churning in his stomach that told him perhaps a burst of terror borne magic wasn't beyond him after all.

* * *

SG 8 had gone through the gate fifteen minutes earlier and had radioed back an all clear. The last of the supplies were loaded and an airman was going over a checklist. Teal'c watched Morris looking over the cart as well. He seemed to be paying an unusual amount of attention to a large black crate.

"You're good to go," announced Pierce, signing off on the checklist the airman handed him.

Two airmen started to push the cart up the ramp toward the gate. Morris followed them closely.

"Stop," Teal'c said, stepping forward.

Morris eyed him nervously as he approached.

"What is in this crate?" Teal'c demanded of Morris, who was growing more and more pale.

"It's rations," Colonel Pierce said, giving Teal'c a concerned look, as he tapped the label.

"I do not believe that is true. Please open this crate," Teal'c said to one of the airmen.

The airman looked to Morris rather then Pierce. Morris nodded. The airman reached for his side arm. Teal'c's hand went for his zat as Morris ran for the gate. Before a single shot could be fired, the rations crate exploded.

The shock wave knocked all those standing off of their feet. Medical supplies and chunks of black plastic flew all over the alpha site gate room. Pouches of nutrient solution splattered across the consoles, walls, and floor. In the middle of the mess, sprawled on the ramp, lay Harry Potter. A loop of plastic still hung on one wrist, another set of restraints he'd managed to free himself from. The burns Morris claimed were infected were mostly healed, but the skull symbol was still blackened and raw.

Morris was on his feet in the next instant, diving for the gate. Teal'c hit him with a blast from his zat but Morris' momentum carried him through the event horizon. The airman was up and running as well. He fired at Teal'c, who dodged, but felt a hot stinging pain spread across his side. Two other soldiers ran for the gate as Teal'c and the rest of the alpha site command fired after them. Teal'c stopped two with his zat, but a third leapt through the gate unharmed. Teal'c ran up the ramp. He looked down at Harry Potter as he went. The boy was sitting up and blinking rapidly. He could be trusted to Pierce's care. Teal'c dove past him, through the gate, after Morris and the other traitors.

* * *

The room was a blinding blur and they were reaching for him again.

"Get away!" Harry shouted, scrambling backwards off the ramp and across the cluttered floor.

The room was spinning, but the air was cool. He didn't recognize anyone, though without his glasses he could have missed a familiar face. He looked down and saw he was wearing little more then a sort of skirt made out of blue papery cloth. He scrambled backwards until his back hit a wall. He grabbed an exposed pipe and pulled himself to his feet. The dizziness grew worse.

"No one is going to hurt you," said a man in a camouflage uniform.

Harry couldn't see his expression clearly, but he could see the other soldiers in the room had guns pointed at him. There was a dark rectangle in the wall on the far side of the room, and people were moving in front of it. Harry was pretty sure it was a door. The man who'd spoken reached for him.

He wasn't trying to do anything, but on later reflection he supposed that's why they called it accidental magic. As hands locked around his wrists there was a sudden feeling in his head, like a rubber band had snapped inside it. The room went pitch black. For a panicked moment he thought he had gone blind, but other people were shouting around him in tense American accents. He'd only turned out the lights.

Harry jerked away from the man holding him and scrambled across the room to where he remembered seeing the door. People bumped him and stepped on his feet. One man grabbed his arm, but Harry kicked at him hard and the man let go with a wheeze of pain. He found the wall with his outstretched hands and felt along it until he reached the door. As he stepped through it, someone ran into him and knocked him sprawling on the ground. Somebody stepped on his ankle before he managed to roll out of the way. He saw a tiny orange flame and realized someone had a lighter with them. He hobbled away through the dark tunnel, away from the light and pounding feet.

It took him hours to find his way outside. He didn't understand until he found the ladders in the ventilation shaft that he was underground. He saw no sign of Mr. O'Neill or the rooms he'd been allowed to see before…before Voldemort caught up with him. It came back more slowly than the rest. Voldemort had activated whatever curse was buried in the mark on his chest. And now he was somewhere else.

He found a huge empty room that looked like it ought to have a blimp or something in it but didn't. The room did have windows though, high above the concrete floor. In another boon, he found a set of only slightly sweaty blue coveralls hung over a rack of power tools. He put them on. A ladder led up to a catwalk that ran under the windows and he climbed it, still barefoot. The sky outside was almost blindingly bright, and had a faintly purple tint. Harry supposed it was nearly evening.

The windows wouldn't open, and pounding with his fists didn't even crack them. He walked along the catwalk, finally locating another ladder that led even higher. At the top was a heavy metal hatch, with a keypad and a little slot to slide in a card on the side, but it seemed broken and the hatch opened with one good shove.

He crawled out onto gray stone, strewn with pine needles. Wind ruffled his hair as he looked about. He stood on the side of a mountain which was sparsely covered with trees. As an afterthought he closed the hatch behind himself and started down. He'd gone all of twenty feet when someone yelled halt. He ran, and the sound of gunfire echoed after him.

* * *

The first things Teal'c noticed as he came through the gate were the lanterns. The computer consoles were dark and smoking camp lanterns and glow sticks were the only sources of lights in the alpha site gate room. Teal'c raised an eyebrow as Colonel Pierce and a regiment of guards came forward to relieve him of his prisoners. He had captured Morris and three conspirators on P3X117. Six others had died fighting. Though they refused to speak, he suspected they were members of the Trust. He had treated them accordingly.

"What has transpired here?" Teal'c asked.

"All of our equipment shut down a few seconds after you left. Everything from batteries to the Naquada reactor went out and we can't start them up again. Nobody here can figure it out. The SGC tried to contact us, but none of our radios can transmit or receive so we don't know what's going on," Pierce said. "I think it has something to do with that kid."

"Harry Potter?"

Pierce nodded. "When you went after Morris and the others I tried to calm him down." He paused for a moment. "General O'Neill didn't explain why he sent the kid here, but I was given the impression he was human."

"He has done something to make you believe otherwise?"

"He was backed against a wall and I caught his arms. I don't know how else to describe this…it was like something when through me, and then the lights went out. We're going to have to wait for them to send a MALP through to check up on us, and that won't be for another eighteen hours."

"Where is Harry Potter now?" Teal'c asked.

"We don't know. A pair of guards on the mountaintop reported someone in a mechanic's uniform running into the forest. I've sent out search parties, but they haven't found anything."

"I will join the search," he said.

"You've been gone almost thirty-six hours. Don't you need to rest? Do you have enough Trutonin?"

"I have several more days' worth," he replied.

"There's a storm headed this way," Pierce warned.

"I will pack accordingly," Teal'c said. He gave the colonel a slight bow and set out.

* * *

Harry sat huddled before the pile of sticks. They were still damp from the previous days' rain, but they were all he could find. It had been three days since he escaped the base. It was more then enough time to realize how much trouble he was in. Now night was coming on again. He didn't mind the dark so much. He hadn't run into any animals that looked big enough to eat him, but the small things he had seen were much more disturbing. The stars were wrong.

He was not exactly a stellar student of astronomy, but he knew most of the constellations in the northern and southern hemispheres. The first night out he'd seen none of them. He'd been looking for the hazy light pollution of street lamps to lead him to a city, but saw nothing. He looked for planes passing over, but the sky was empty. He knew what it had to mean, but couldn't possibly be.

Another bout of uncontrollable shivering brought his mind back to matters at hand. He closed his eyes and concentrated. He'd seen Professor Lupin conjure flames without a wand. Of course those had been heatless flames, but Harry figured regular old burning flames should be easier, not harder.

His teeth chattered as he whispered "_Incendio!"_

Nothing happened. He tried again and nothing happened. He spoke louder. He enunciated more carefully. He focused so hard it made his head hurt. He held out his hands as if to warm them over the not yet existent blaze.

"_Incendio! Incendio! Incendio_!"

For an instant his palms felt as if they were burning and his forearms ached. Then he heard hissing steam and the crackle and pop of burning wood. He opened his eyes and smiled at the small fire. He had only a few moments to savor his accomplishment before he saw the shadowy figure standing mere yards away. As he scrambled backwards the figure came forward, boots pounding heavily, even on the carpet of pine needles. Harry was about to sprint deeper into the forest when he saw a faint glint of gold on his pursuer's brow. He froze.

"Mr. Teal'c?"

"It is I," responded a calm voice.

"Er…hello?" Harry said, not sure what he should say.

Mr. Teal'c nodded in response. He stepped closer and Harry saw he was carrying a strange staff with metal ovals stuck on either end. He looked at Mr. Teal'c more closely across the fire. He knew what had happened, but it seemed a struggle to bring forth the words. If he didn't mention it, if it wasn't confirmed, maybe it wasn't really happening. But he had to say it. He needed to know.

"We're not on earth, are we?" Harry asked.

"We are not," Teal'c replied.

"I couldn't find my way to the city," Harry said, filling as if the bottom had dropped out of his stomach.

"This planet is, in fact, uninhabited except for the base from which you fled."

"Oh," Harry said.

He started inching back toward the fire. Things were getting incredibly and unnervingly weird, but running further into the woods didn't seem to be a viable option any longer. He was thinking about sitting down when Mr. Teal'c moved suddenly. Harry tensed, preparing to run, but he merely removed his pack and took off his jacket. He held the garment out to Harry.

"Won't you be cold?" Harry asked.

"I have endured greater extremes of temperature."

Harry watched him for a moment. If he came close enough to take the jacket, Mr. Teal'c could probably grab him. As if reading his thoughts the man raised an eyebrow, and then threw it to him.

"Thank you," Harry said.

"It is not my intention to harm you," Mr. Teal'c said.

Harry started at him. He wanted to believe him. Mr. Teal'c hadn't lied to him as far as he could remember, but if he was here then he might be involved with those fake doctors.

"At the base, they drugged me and put me in a box, and then they shot at me," Harry said.

"That was not an action sanctioned by the United States Air Force, or by Colonel Perice, the commander of the base. I believe those actions were in fact undertaken by members of a Tauri rebel group called the Trust. That group had not previously succeeded in infiltrating Off World bases, but they have been expanding their influence in recent months. The men involved in attacking you have been captured and detained, or killed in battle."

"People are dead because of this? Because of me?" Harry asked, feeling sick. He looked down at his feet.

Mr. Teal'c stared at him. "Are you of the Nox?"

Harry looked up. "What?"

"The Nox are a race that abhors violence, even to preserve their own lives. Are you a descendent of that race?"

Harry shook his head. "I've never even heard of them. Are they from Europe?"

"Their home world is many thousands of light-years from your home world."

"You're not from earth?"

"I am from a world called Chulak," the man replied.

"This is getting complicated," Harry muttered.

Over the next half hour, Teal'c (the Mr. was unnecessary) explained to Harry how he had ended up on another planet. Harry did not understand much after wormholes were introduced into the conversation, but he understood enough of the explanation to know that they had traveled using science and technology, rather then sorcery. Teal'c also had emergency rations, which tasted like cardboard with sugar on it, but were far better then nothing. Then came the awkward part.

"How is it you were able to start this fire, HarryPotter? What manner of technology is this?"

Harry looked at his own hands for several minutes. The International Statute of Secrecy dictated a rather long and unpleasant prison sentence if Harry disclosed anything about the wizarding world to a muggle, but a muggle was a human without magic, not a Jaffa, so would that even count? And since he was on another planet an International Statute shouldn't really have any power. But then if Harry told someone and it got back to earth...

"If I tell you, you can't tell anybody else," Harry said.

"I am bound by oaths to report to General O'Neill anything that could endanger Earth or any other world with which Earth has a treaty."

"Well…I'm sort of bound by oaths, and threats, not to tell any human who isn't a part of our group," Harry said. "Though I don't really know how any of that will work out, legally I mean, since we sort of didn't know there were other occupied planets in the universe, and its not as if they can come here and arrest me, but I do want to go home eventually, but the-"

"I will give you my oath that no one but General O'Neill shall hear what you say to me this night."

Harry nodded and began.

Teal'c took most of what he had to say in stride. He did not seem surprised when Harry said he had magic powers, or that his people hid because they didn't want to interfere with the lives of muggles. He asked Harry about wands and Harry explained that they were only used to focus power, not create it. He couldn't very well explain what he had done to the power systems in base, since he did not really know. The mention of accidental magic caused Teal'c to raise an eyebrow, but he did not interrupt. Harry gave him a brief overview of Voldemort and the Ministry to explain the power struggle he was involved in. He left out the Order and the Prophesy just to be on the safe side. When finally stopped speaking he was surprised at how much better he felt. The bizarre nervous and guilty feelings he'd had since the muggles had taken him in had faded to almost nothing.

"What of the cat?" Teal'c asked.

"What?"

"Your cat, Professor I believe you called it. Is it what it appears to be?"

Harry felt the guilt come rushing back. In all the chaos he'd forgotten about Professor McGonagall, trapped and with out her powers because of the collar they'd put on her.

"Where is she?" Harry asked.

"The animal is currently in the barrack in which I am stationed. It is very unusual for an animal to voluntarily pass through the Stargate."

"She isn't a normal cat," Harry started.

He stopped then, his mind whirling. If he told Teal'c about his Professor, he would most likely take the collar off. But what would McGonagall do, insist they return to England most likely. Harry took a shaky breath. She would make him go back. And she didn't take rules lightly. If they let her out she would bring in wizards to erase memories, and what would she do about the gate? Would she let him explain why he thought the muggles should be told, why they had a right to know? Would she even consider letting Harry stay?

He realized then that he did not trust her nearly as much as he once had. Had she known that Voldemort was sneaking into Harry's thought? Had Dumbledore warned her about false visions and the prophesy and all the things Harry would have died to know before the Department of Mysteries disaster? Could anyone be trusted after that? His head hurt from all the questions.

"She's much smarter and much older then a cat should be. She's supposed to watch me and make sure I don't do anything stupid until Ministry comes to get me."

"Is she sentient?"

Harry nodded.

They talked a bit more about what Harry's people would do when they could no longer track him, but Harry couldn't give him a definite answer. He honestly didn't think his people cared all that much about where he was as long as the muggle news wasn't broadcasting definitive proof of the existence of magic. Teal'c told him to sleep, as they would not return to the base until the morning. As the alien spoke into his radio, and the fire crackled a few inches away, Harry's eyes drifted closed.

Harry didn't know what woke him, but he had suspicions it had something to do with the rock he was lying on top of. He started to roll over. There was a strange chiming sound from the left, then everything disappeared in a blue light.

"…the Jaffa. The kid's wearing his jacket. He's got to be around here. Miller, Parks, Lee, fan out. I want him dead before we go back." A large group of people were talking in low voices and moving all around him.

Harry swallowed to hold in a groan. A very large man was holding him part way off the ground by the back of his jacket, and it was putting uncomfortable pressure on his still sore chest. His arms were just barely touching the ground and his legs were twisted about oddly. He supposed he'd been dragged away from the camp. Though he did his best to play dead his captor noticed he was awake. He dropped Harry and he tried to run, but he slipped and the man wrapped an arm around his neck, pinning him to his chest. He was lifted completely off the ground and he started to choke.

"Shit!" the man grunted. "He's awake. Burke, get me more sedative! No! The needle with the yellow stuff in it."

Harry kicked harder but he couldn't get loose. He tried to work up enough fear to do something, but a vise-like grip closed on his arm and the needle jabbed in. He went limp. He was still awake but he couldn't move, or even bring up his arms to catch himself as he was dropped to the ground. The man standing over him took a walkie-talkie from his pocket.

"Miller, report," he said.

After a few seconds pause he repeated himself, but Miller wasn't answering. Neither were Parks or Lee apparently. With paramount effort Harry rolled over and started to crawl away. A knee dropped down in the center of his back and his arms were twisted up behind him. Plastic zip ties tightened around his wrists.

"We're falling back," his captor commanded.

Harry was lifted bodily off the ground and thrown over the man's shoulder. There was sickening pressure in his stomach as the man started to run. There were other people moving with them. Harry thought there might have been four, but he wasn't sure of his count. They'd gone no more then a few hundred yards before Harry was dropped again. A bright orange light flew over him and there was a gargling scream. The forest filled with echoing gunshots and shouts.

"He's on your six-"

"Duck!"

Harry was hauled upright again, just in time to see Mr. Teal'c strike a man across the face with the weird staff he was carrying. Harry called a choked warning as he saw the man holding him draw a handgun, but to his dismay the barrel of the gun was pressed against his own temple. An arm looped around his neck again. Mr. Teal'c didn't seem to notice, and pointed his staff at another soldier who was already firing at him. He dove forward and rolled out of the way, coming up again with the staff still aimed. An orange light flew from it, and the gunfire ceased. The forest was suddenly very quiet. Mr. Teal'c turned slowly and aimed the staff at them.

"This will gain you nothing," Mr. Teal'c said.

"You're going to shoot through the kid?" the man holding Harry said.

Thinking he should do something, Harry stomped as hard as he could on his captor's foot. Apparently he didn't feel it through his boot though. He just kept talking.

"Drop the staff or he dies."

"If he is dead you will be unable to study him, and I will have no reason not to kill you. His death would serve no purpose."

His captor shrugged. "If I let him go I've lost, and I'm kind of spiteful."

Mr. Teal'c stared at him for a moment, then he changed his grip on the staff and the end began to glow. In a very casual voice he said "So be it."

A blast of orange light came at them.

Harry was uncertain of what happened in the next few moments, but it seemed as if in the blink of an eye he'd gone from standing up right to lying on top of his captor, with a horrible head ache. The man's arm was still around his neck, but the pressure was gone. Harry rolled away from the man and sat up. His ears rang. Teal'c knelt in front of him and said something.

"What?" Harry said.

Teal'c leaned to Harry's left and spoke louder.

"…away form here…be others on the way."

"I can't here you very well!" Harry said.

"…have grazed…your ear…when we are further away."

Harry was pretty sure Teal'c had said he'd been shot in the head. The man leaned around him and cut the zip ties off his wrists, then helped him to his feet. Harry stumbled a bit, feeling dizzy. As he turned in an attempt to get his balance he looked back and saw the man who had taken him hostage. He had a very large hole in his face. It was burned and blackened around the edges and Harry could see the ground through it, illuminated by a few still smoldering bits. The rations returned.

Teal'c dragged him away from the battle ground, half carrying him at times. They spent the rest of the night moving. Night on that planet seemed to be longer. When the sun came up, a little too orange in purple hued sky, they settled down under an overhang of rock to rest. Harry fell asleep again, but woke soon after when Teal'c slathered some horrible stinging liquid on the side of his face.

"The wound is not deep but may be infected," Teal'c explained. Harry was relieved that his hearing was coming back, though there was still a strange background buzz in that ear.

"Were those more of the Trust?" Harry asked.

"I believe so," said Teal'c. "I would not have thought it possible for so many of them to have come through the gate. They may have a ship in orbit."

"A space ship?"

Teal'c nodded, and pulled another alcohol wipe from the pockets of his vest. The stinging went up and down the right side of Harry's face from temple to eyebrow. That was a very close call.

"That was a good shot," Harry said, thinking back to the dead man who'd come so close to killing him. His eyes went to the staff weapon, and he found he couldn't keep his mouth shut about the dead man.

"It was kind of messy though. Isn't it hard to aim that thing? Do you think he actually knew he was dying or do you think his face melted to fast for him to notice?"

Harry's stomach gave a violent twist. He supposed Teal'c noticed something in his expression.

"If this disturbs you so greatly, why do you speak of it?"

Harry shrugged and realized he was shaking.

"I don't know. I…I want to know how you do it."

"What it are you referring to?"

"How do you kill somebody?" Harry asked.

Teal'c raised an eyebrow at him. "Why do you ask this question?"

Harry looked down. He didn't know why he felt so awkward. It was a reasonable question. And Teal'c was a good person, despite the fact that he killed with no discernable emotion. He was defending both of them, but Harry felt a bizarre kind of shame on his behalf.

"That guy, Voldemort, that I told you about? I explained how he's rather set on killing me right?"

Teal'c nodded.

"Everyone is always telling me to stay back, to stay out of the way. They say they'll handle it for me, that they'll protect me, but every one who tries ends up dead. He'll keep coming and I know one day it will be me who has to stop him. I need to be able to kill him, and you do it so easily-"

Teal'c shut him up with a sharp glance. The first real expression Harry had ever seen on his face.

"With much training killing becomes simple. It is not easy."

Harry's face started to burn.

"I didn't mean…I didn't mean anything bad about you…"

"I understand. It is important that you are able to defend yourself. You have exhibited skills which may, in time make you a capable warrior. Do you truly wish to learn what I have learned about death and battle?"

Harry nodded. "What do I have to do?"


	11. Sweet Dreams are made of something Else ...

**Author's note:** Sorry if the Stargate lingo is miss spelled. Reviews are appreciated, especially if they point out typos.

**Crumpets Aren't My Style**

**By Marz**

**Sweet Dreams are Made of Something Else Entirely**

The cab was stuffy and the windows kept fogging up. Airman Edey had the defrost on full blast and the windshield wipers going top speed but even then he could barely see. He supposed it might have something to do with all the ash in the air from the forest fires, which were as of that morning, 90 contained. He sighed and radioed ahead to base, informing them of an unscheduled stop to keep himself from driving off the edge of the mountain. He'd have to file an extra report. Airman Luza, who was riding in the back climbed out to stretch her legs. Edey pulled himself up onto the hood of the transport truck and poured the last of his canteen over the windshield then scrubbed it with his sleeve. Whatever the strange film was it didn't come off.

He was just turning to tell Luza to get him the maintenance kit from the back when he saw the flash of red light. He blinked and found himself halted in mid wipe. The film was starting to clear.

"Luza? Did you see that?" he called, climbing down.

"See what?"

"That flash of light."

"No, I didn't see anything."

Edey shrugged and got back in the cab. When Luza knocked on the rear window he started up the engine and continued on up the mountain with his ever-so-important cargo of fresh produce and vacuum sealed coffee. If he'd looked in his rearview mirror he would have noticed the dark figure standing in the road behind him. He would have seen the figure disappear in a flutter of dark cloth.

* * *

"So do we have any idea how many members of the Trust have infiltrated the alpha site?" O'Neill asked.

"No sir," Carter said.

It had been a week since the incident and they were no closer to hunting down the higher ups that must have helped the Trust get its spies into place, nor were they any closer to finding the spies that had yet to show themselves. Not only was the medical staff and all of SG8 compromised through either black mail or bribes, but a strike force had made its way to the supposedly secret base in the Trust's Alkesh. The ship had a cloaking device, so even after the alpha site regained power they had been unable to detect them. They'd likely been monitoring radio communications from orbit, and as soon as Teal'c called in his position the Trust had them, or at least thought they did. The Jaffa managed to take out a group of eight soldiers they sent after the kid, with a minimal mess. Still, nobody thought it would be an isolated incident.

O'Neill was rather surprised by the suggestion Teal'c had made about what to do with the kid in his report. It was a good idea though, so O'Neill signed off on it. The Trust would never be able to infiltrate the group now responsible for Harry Potter's safety. With the kid safely out of the way maybe they could back to their normal routine of fighting aliens and saving the world. Or at least he could get back to sending people off to fight aliens and save the world. He was starting to hate his desk.

"Do you think I could skip the paper work? If the Trust is reading our files it might throw them off."

"I don't think that's a very good idea sir," Carter said with the hint of a smile.

"Alright. Dismissed. Go about your business. Leave me to suffer."

Carter nodded and walked out. O'Neill signed. Then he sighed again. It wasn't making him feel any less depressed. He wondered if he was doing it right.

The pile of unfinished paperwork was well over three feet tall. Most of it stemmed from the U.K. mission. The reports coming in from the new taskforce the Pentagon had assigned indicated that the situation in England was back to normal. The reports of unusual goings on at the embassy had stopped completely and the mysterious murders Carter had noted had all been miraculously solved, and no the SGC could not send someone to double check that. He paged through a few more forms that demanded explanations for the money needed to fix the electrical systems at the alpha site. Carter had explained to him that something had halted the flow of electrons in every copper wire in the base. They'd gotten things up and running again with a jump start from a portable Naquada generator.

Colonel Pierce was certain the kid was somehow responsible for knocking out the power in the first place, and from what Teal'c had told him, O'Neill was starting to agree. It wasn't the first time the SGC had run into human with inexplicable abilities. Cassandra had been able to generate and manipulate electromagnetic fields after being experimented on by Nerti, a rather unpleasant Go'auld, who later went on to engineer telepathic and telekinetic humans, after much trail and horrifying error. She wanted a Hok'tar (the Go'auld slang for a genetically advanced human being) for her next host body. Her own creations had killed her with a little encouragement from SG1 but the London group could be evidence that another Go'auld had succeeded as well. _They probably got killed by their guinea pigs too,_ O'Neill thought. But the kid's blood had tested normal in every way, and Cassandra showed all sorts of viruses and creepy things. _It's not something I can deal with tonight_. O'Neill signed off on the alpha site budget and went on.

The next was approval for him to contact the Tok'ra and borrow a Zaytarg detector, which was basically a very fancy and very foul able truth detector. Theoretically once they got one they could just ask every single person in the SGC if they were a member of the Trust or not. O'Neill had quite a few doubts about what seemed like a relatively simple plan, but he approved a mission allowing SG4 to go looking.

There was a report form Dr. Brightman, expressing concern for the night shift personal. She thought they needed more leave to lessen stress. Five different soldiers had come to her complaining of trouble sleeping and nightmares. O'Neill took another sip of his coffee, and was tempted to spit it back into his cup.

"This is enough to give anybody nightmares," he muttered to no one in particular.

He took another four inches off the pile. It was all request forms. Permission to change the processor from an I80T model to an I94T model in the MALPs? He put it in the ask Carter pile. Permission to put a new screen saver on the non emergency computers in the staff room on level 14. Permission to reevaluate the effect of gate travel on chronometers in the computer systems sent off world. Permission to convert the uniform storage rooms on level 19 to office supply storage rooms. _How did __Hammond__ not go crazy?_ Permission to change supply companies for coffee and other vacuum sealed products for the mess. _Finally! A chance to use my powers for good_! He approved the form. He looked through his desk for gold stars but couldn't find any.

By three in the morning the pile of papers was six inches high, and O'Neill thoroughly believed he had earned his sleep. He was on his way to his bunk when he saw an airman standing in the hall half dressed. He had no shoes and his uniform jacket was on the floor a few feet away. His eyes were red rimed and he seemed very disoriented, but he did give a clumsy salute when he noticed O'Neill watching him.

"Is something wrong?" O'Neill asked carefully. The guy didn't smell as if he'd been drinking.

"No sir I was just going to get some air, but then I remembered I'm not allowed up without leave," the young man broke off in nervous almost hysterical laughter.

"Why don't we go see if Dr. Brightman has anything for you?"

"Yes sir," the nervous laughter came again.

By the time Brightman had given the airman the once over it was five in the morning. She came out into the hall to speak with him. From where they stood they could both see the young man sitting on his bed. He'd start to nod off then jerk upright again in a pattern so regular something strange had to be going on.

"He's showing signs of sever sleep deprivation, but claims to have slept for at least six hours last night. His MRI is a little strange, but I can't find a cause for it. His drug tests are coming back clean."

O'Neill nodded.

"I'll keep him for another twelve hours and give him a sedative. It may be the early signs of some more serious mental illness, but we'll have to wait for more of the test results to comeback."

O'Neill nodded again.

"I'll send them to your desk as soon as they come in."

With a final nod O'Neill went in search of his bunk, to get the hour and fifteen minutes of sleep he could still fit into his schedule. He got to a bunk, kicked off his shoes, and was asleep before they hit the floor.

The Death Gliders passed over again. O'Neill grabbed Carter by the vest and dragged her behind an out cropping of rock. Hot dirt and bits of rock rained down on them, but the boiling hot plasma fired by the aircraft had missed them, this time. Carter let out a gagging chough. Her whole body shuddered. He wasn't surprised. She'd been hit in the side with a blast from a staff weapon. Usually such wounds were cauterized by the heat, but for some unknown reason there was blood everywhere. He picked up his radio.

"Daniel! Come in!"

"Jack," answered a faint voice.

"Daniel! What's your position?"

"Can't…can't move my legs…"

"Daniel? Daniel where are you?"

"Over…there's a sort pillar…uh…"

"Daniel! Where are you?"

"I'm not going to…they're coming this way. Go without me."

"God damn it Daniel! Where are you? What pillar?"

Only static answered. He changed frequencies.

"Teal'c?"

"What is it O'Neill?"

"Can you reach Daniel? He's hurt, under fire, and I've got no idea where he is."

As the radio buzzed with Teal'c's response he could hear staff weapons firing in the background. "I can not move from my current position O'Neill. I am surrounded."

"Where are you?"

"Approximately two kilometers north of the Stargate."

Carter gave another bubbling cough. He might be able to drag her to the gate, but he wouldn't be able to get to Teal'c in time and he was just as likely to get cut down by the Death Gliders trying. Would Carter survive if he went to help Teal'c and then came back for her? He remembered something about ruins to the west of the Stargate. Daniel was probably there. _How did they get so spread out_? he wondered. _Which one do I save?_

As he struggled to decided he felt a prickling on the back of his neck and turned. Someone was standing a few feet away watching him. O'Neill stared back at him, but couldn't see his face. His observer was somehow indistinct. The shadowy outline of where a man would be, rather then an actual man, but it seemed somehow familiar. O'Neill raised his gun.

"Who are you?"

"Sir!"

O'Neill sat up with a start. He was still in his bunk, and Sergeant Walter was standing over him.

"What?" O'Neill asked checking his watch.

He'd slept for a whole forty minutes.

"There's an incoming call from the Tok'ra, Sir, in the control room."

"Right, right."

O'Neill rolled to his feet, feeling more tired then when he first lay down.

O'Neill was slightly relieved to see he wasn't the worst looking person on base as he got in line for breakfast. Carter was just a head of him, and after getting a plate full of eggs and something pretending to be French toast he joined her at a table. She had dark circles under her eyes.

"Didn't sleep well Sir?"

"Didn't sleep enough. How about you?"

"I don't want to sound strange sir," she said picking at her fruit salad and cottage cheese, "But I kept having this weird dream over and over again."

"What kind of dream?"

"A nightmare I'd guess you'd call it. For some reason I'm taking my fiancé on a tour of the base and there's this weird shadow following us. I open the door to my lab and it's full of replicators and….they swarm him. And it just repeats over and over again whenever I close my eyes. Maybe I'm getting cold feet."

While struggling to bring up some good advice O'Neill went and got them both coffee. The pot was almost empty. He looked around the mess hall and saw that nearly everyone in the room had a cup, and they all looked about as bad as he did, except for Major Cardoza who was busy swilling down a super protein Odwalla. O'Neill took a sip of his coffee and scowled a bit. Maybe there was something to that whole organic food, health nut thing. He was mentally preparing to think of advice for Carter when Daniel slumped down at their table.

"Spare some coffee?" he asked Carter. "They just ran out."

She handed over her cup, and he dumped half of it into his empty mug. He took a long gulp then took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

"Something wrong?" asked O'Neill.

"Weird dream," Daniel said.

"About what?" O'Neill and Carter said together.

"We were all standing in an airlock on some alien ship, and there were instructions written on the wall, but I couldn't translate them. You kept asking which button to hit and I…uh…told you the wrong one."

"Ouch," said O'Neill.

"Yeah."

O'Neill took another sip of coffee.

As the day progressed O'Neill overheard dozens of disturbing dreams recounted. Fortunately they were not all mentioned directly too him. He couldn't seem to walk into a room without hearing about Lieutenant Kemper falling out of a plane or Colonel Linn stepping through the gate and realizing he was naked in front of a battalion of serpent guards. On the plus side he did manage to finish his paper work, and the Tok'ra were coming by in a week to drop off a Zaytarg-whats-a-ma-jig. This day, despite the odd dreams, was going much better then the last, and by midnight O'Neill was kicking off his shoes, ready to sleep again.

They sat on the porch, calm and happy. He was on leave, and the weather was nice and everything was perfect. Except everything wasn't. He felt as if a shadow was hanging over him, and when he heard the unmistakable sound of a gunshot ring through the house, he was almost expecting it. He and Sarah were on their feet and running. It was familiar. It was too familiar, but something was wrong. This time Sarah passed him, and he froze at the base of the steps. The shadow was right behind him and he turned. It was still indistinct, but now it was standing much closer. O'Neill looked back at the house. His wife was screaming. He saw his reflection in the window and for just an instant he thought he saw the reflection of a man standing behind him, with a pale face and oily black hair.

* * *

Teal'c sat on the floor of his quarters. His legs were crossed and his eyes were closed. Candles burned in a circle around him. He no longer needed to do this. Without a symbiote kel'nor'eim was not all that different from normal human meditation. Still it made him feel more clear headed and focused then sleep alone could. Not much surprised Teal'c, but as he sank deeper and deeper into his self induced trance, he felt watched. In his minds eye he pictured the room in which he sat, the four gray walls, the floor, the ceiling, the bed in the corner and the circle of candles. As he brought up the images in his mind a strange shadowy figure seemed to be adding itself into the view. He concentrated on the figure and slowly it resolved itself into a man, with a sallow face and dark greasy hair.

"Explain your presence here," Teal'c said coolly.

The prisoner who had escaped from Daniel Jackson and Colonel Carter in London stood before him glaring, but did not respond to his questions.

"Why are you here?" Teal'c repeated.

When the man spoke his voice echoed strangely as if he were shouting from a long distance away.

"Where is Harry Potter?" he demanded.

Teal'c looked at him without responding.

The prisoner bared his yellowed teeth in a silent snarl and faded away. Teal'c opened his eyes. There was no indication anyone had actually been in his room, but he decided to mention the incident to General O'Neill in the morning.

* * *

Snape blinked. He wasn't certain how long his eyes had been open, staring at nothing, but now they stung mercilessly. He came out of the spell's trance, suddenly aware of how stuffy and smoky the air was. He got to his feet shaking slightly, and pushed open the window. He'd taken apart the strange beeping disk in the ceiling shortly after he began his preparations. It lay on the cheep bedside table a few feet away. Apparently the candles set it off. He went to the bathroom and drank from the sink. He washed his face. Every part of him ached. He walked slowly to the desk he'd transfigured from his suitcase, picked up a quill and parchment, and began to write.

He had details of almost every floor of the base by now, but it still wasn't enough. He didn't know if he could last another night. Hag's Wine was a powerful potion. It was originally designed to allow an interrogator access to the mind of his victim. The potion could not be blocked, but unfortunately for his purposes it could not be controlled either. It gave the victim nightmares, and Snape could observe them in great detail, but the mundane horrors spring from the minds of most of the muggles who'd unknowingly ingested the potion were of very little use. He wondered if it was telling, that so many men in the United States Air Force dreamed of falling. The potion wasn't meant to be given to so many different people at once, but He'd been unable to find a way for someone to get inside the base to deliver it to useful targets only.

He went through his notes until he found the sketch he had made of the ring. He had seen it in the minds of ten different soldiers on the base. Some times it was just a large metal ring sitting in a field or in the lowest floors of the military base. Other times it was filled with a strange glowing light. The muggles dreamt of walking into the light, or of terrible things walking out. As far as Snape could tell it was some sort of teleportation system, sending muggles every which way across the globe. He knew of no muggle science that could produce such a thing. It had to be an ancient forgotten form of sorcery, but Snape could not understand how the muggles could have gotten it working if that was true. The North American Wizards Counsel must have some idea what was going on in that base.

The Counsel had blocked all of Dumbledore's efforts to return to the United States. They claimed they did not know what became of Potter, but they refused to go to the base themselves or let anyone else look. But perhaps there were a few wizards on the base. The dark skinned man with the symbol on his forehead had noticed Snape intruding on his subconscious. Snape pushed the thought away. Even if there was a wizard on the base, he still had his orders.

Dumbledore had told Snape that his skills in espionage made him the perfect person to under take this mission for the Order. Go to Colorado, without being detected by the muggles or the N.A.W.C. and find out how Potter died. The mission was not impossible per say, but it seemed a waste of time. He knew Dumbledore was not above giving him busy work, but this was excessive. Snape flipped through his notes, growing more and more aggravated. He was fairly certain the old man thought he was protecting Snape by sending him away. Voldemort had put a several million galleon bounty on his head. So now he sat in a low rent motel trying to find out where Potter was buried. The door opened and he resisted the urge to stab something with his quill.

Lupin stomped in, carrying several sacks of groceries and a large cardboard box. He was dressed as a muggle in jeans and a plaid shirt. The weather outside was starting to turn cold, so of course he left the door hanging open as he went back out to fetch more bags. Snape had spelled the doorway to keep nosey muggles from peering in, so he was not worried about observation as he watched Lupin meander over to the rusty smoke billowing automobile he'd acquired. Lupin stopped to chat with a muggle woman on her way out of the parking lot. Snape was fairly certain she was a prostitute. Lupin eventually wandered back with another arm full of supplies.

"Good morning Severus. Any luck?" he asked.

Snape scowled. "This has little to do with luck."

Lupin shrugged. "Very well, did your universally acknowledged skill and intensive labor result in any new information?" the werewolf rephrased in a most patronizing manner.

"I have the base almost entirely mapped. Besides splurging our dwindling funds did you accomplish anything?"

"I found all the ingredients you requested for the next batch of potion, but I think we are going about this the wrong way-"

"When you somehow convinced Dumbledore to send you along you agreed to defer to my judgment. My methods gain the most information with a minimum of risk."

"But the side effects of Hag's Wine…"

"The muggles would have to drink more then ten cups of that awful brew in one day to get a harmful does of the potion."

"Not just to them. The potions you've been taking to get into their nightmares are some of the darkest I've ever dealt with-"

"Which doesn't say much for your experience with the subject."

"Are you so determined to destroy yourself?"

"Enough! I must put up with your presence, but I am not required to put up with your rambling."

Snape dug a sketch of the ring from his notes and thrust it into Lupin's hands.

"Make your self useful and research this. Be back by nine this evening. I'll have another batch of potions ready for distribution."

Lupin it seemed was not yet out of pointless arguments.

"If we could just speak to them-"

"You'd like to captured and locked up? Is that it? Does bondage appeal to you? Perhaps you have some bizarre desire to be dissected? After they catch you they will want to see just how a werewolf works. Go and find out what that artifact is, and keep your fool mouth shut."

Lupin rolled his eyes and left again.

* * *

**Another Author's note:** Don't panic people! Harry will be in the next chapter. 


	12. Boot Camp in Tennis Shoes

**Author's note:** Sorry this update took so long. Classes are in full swing again and I am overrun with midterms. Comments are always welcome. I've been getting a lot of questions and requests for more Stargate background in the story, so I've tried to add a little more. I just didn't want to bog things down with long paragraphs of summary. If I am still being confusing, please let me know.

**Crumpets Aren't My Style**

**By Marz**

**Boot Camp in Tennis Shoes**

"Cree Jaffa!"

_Lift the staff up, do the turn thing._

"Cree Jaffa!"

_Spin the staff, do the whacking thing._

"Cree Jaffa!"

_Turn around, swing and duck._

"Cree Jaffa!"

_Step back bring the staff up and-_

"Ow!"

For the fifth time in that hour Harry Potter found himself lying in the dirt with a ringing headache. At least this time it sort of wasn't his fault. He'd blocked in time, but his sparing partner, Ro'dan, had just pounded right through it. He could hear a couple of other Jaffa laughing softly in the background. Harry wanted to glare at them but as Ro'dan grabbed his hand to help him to his feet, he couldn't help but hiss through his teeth in pain. The Jaffa hadn't just knocked the staff out of his hand. He'd dislocated Harry's left thumb, again. It all would have been a lot easier to take if Ro'dan hadn't been five years younger and two inches shorter then Harry.

"Enough for today Tauri," their instructor Joe'mec said. "Go to Mo'tha."

Harry picked up his staff with his right hand and put it back in the rack, then walked across the camp to find the healer. Most Jaffa never had reason to see the large gray haired woman. If an injury wasn't lethal, the Go'auld parasite that each of the Jaffa carried would simply heal it up after a few days of meditation. Harry saw Mo'tha every other day. At first she seemed rather annoyed that he was in the camp at all. But they had come to a sort of mutual respect during Harry's first week there, when she was taping up his split knuckles for the third time in one day.

"You run your head into a wall enough times, one or the other breaks," Mo'tha had said.

Harry supposed she had been dispensing some sort of wisdom, but he was at a loss for what it might be. She didn't seem resent him so much after that.

Mo'tha raised an eyebrow at him as he ducked under the awning of her tent. He held up his hand so she could see the digit and its unnatural angle. Without preamble she grabbed his wrist and wrenched everything back into place. Harry was very proud of himself for not screaming. She tied some rags around it to hold it still while it healed.

"No more training today," she said. "Help prepare evening meal."

Harry nodded. He was a little disappointed but he couldn't very well train with just his right hand. He jogged over to the storage tent where the youngest children were chopping up vegetables and a strange root that tasted like a potato but looked like a thistle on steroids. A couple of the boys pointed and laughed as he approached. Harry made a face at them.

"Why do you do that?" one of the girls asked. Her name was Lobit or something like that. Harry couldn't remember.

"Do what?" he asked, picking up a knife and a pile of overly pink almost-carrots.

"You wrinkled up your nose and squinted. Is that because your eyes do not work properly?"

There had been much discussion among the younger children about Harry's glasses. Apparently all Jaffa had perfect vision. He tried to explain and show them how they worked. It ended up in a game of keep away, until one of the older Jaffa had yelled at the children. "There is no honor in stealing from the blind Tauri." It wasn't great for his ego, but it did get his glasses back.

"I was making a face…" Harry started.

The girl just stared at him.

"Never mind. It's an earth thing."

So instead of learning to be a warrior, Harry spent that afternoon on dinner duty. Cooking was one thing he could actually beat the Jaffa at, as preparing dinner for the Dursleys was very much on par with preparing dinner for an army. Not that they seemed to care all that much what they were eating, too busy rebelling against the false gods he supposed.

He looked into the heavy iron kettle as he dropped in assorted roots and vegetables. His friends could be in a potions class at that very moment, looking into a very similar cauldron. Well, Hermione might be at least. She was the smart one after all. Ron probably hadn't made it into advanced potions. Harry idly wondered how he had done in his classes. Every thing had gone to hell well before his report card arrived. Without thinking he tried to pick up the lid of the kettle with his left hand and winced. Had this really been a good idea?

It wasn't the first time the thought had entered his mind. It came up in his nightly arguments with McGonagall. She'd go on and on about how they had to get back to England and Hogwarts and how Professor Dumbledore would be able to set things right. But Harry didn't think it was true. He could not go home until he knew he could do what needed to be done. If he couldn't even cast crucio properly, how could he work up enough hate or anger or what ever it took to work a killing curse? The Jaffa, despite their lack of magic, knew just about all there was to know about killing and dying. In the past month and a half that Harry had spent with them, he'd seen seventeen people die.

The Jaffa rebels were involved in a war with their former masters, the Go'auld. Mr. Teal'c was one of the rebellion's founding members. Harry was still not clear on what the Jaffa had to do with the United States Air Force, but the people had not objected when Teal'c had dropped him off on this planet with fewer then three sentences of introduction. Harry had to gather the rest of the information himself.

The rebels were few in number and not nearly as well armed, but that did not seem to deter them in the least. The adults went out through the Stargate to recruit and raid for supplies, and on fewer occasions they would engage the enemy in small battles. The victories were always pricey. Harry and the Jaffa still too young for battle would take turns on guard at the gate, and while on duty, Harry often saw the Jaffa return to the planet, carrying their injured and their dead. He'd been drafted to help the healers on a few occasions. As he stoked up the fire under the kettle, one incident came to the front of his mind.

Er'ok was dragged in front of Mo'tha with a hole burned through his stomach. Harry was about to have the bandages changed on one of his deeper cuts, but of course gave up his place in line. Mo'tha had called him over to the dying man. Even Harry could tell he was dying. He was given a hand full of rags and told to hold them against the wound in the man's abdomen. Harry knelt down and obeyed. Mo'tha gave the man a few swallows of some awful smelling brew she kept in the back of the tent, and then knelt down on the man's other side.

"Shouldn't we be sowing him up or something?" Harry had asked.

"There is nothing we can do," she had answered.

Harry was wondering; if that was the case then why was he stuffing rags in the wound? A moment latter the man had grabbed Harry's elbow. The grip was so tight he felt joints popping.

"My son…"

"I'll get him-" Harry started to say.

"My son…I must tell you…" Er'ok said squeezing Harry's arm even tighter, "You fought with honor…but I have never said…"

Harry didn't know what to do. He knelt there nodding mutely.

"He knows," Mo'tha said.

Er'ok nodded. "Then…I die free…"

The man had let out one last long sighing gasp and then went still.

"Should I go and…and tell his son?" Harry remembered asking.

"His son died a few months ago. You look a bit like him, but much smaller," she said.

He was pulled out of his reverie by the kettle boiling over. Contemplations of death were put aside as he worked to salvage the stew.

The tents were set up in more or less even rows on the North Slope of the camp. There were usually four hundred or so rebel Jaffa there at any one time, though only half of those were permanent residence. Harry worked his way through the rows until he found his current lodgings. He shared the tent with three other Jaffa. The Jaffa never actually slept, but they would often sit for hours at a time meditating. And unless they had night training planned, most of them spent the dark hours quietly discussing strategy or weapons maintenance; the more academic aspect of their training. If they thought it strange that Harry collapsed in the corner of the tent every night and didn't move for six or seven hours he didn't know.

The others were also in their late teens but were not very talkative. They spoke another language most of the time when they did. He felt a bit excluded, but as he was on another planet, living with a group of people who were not exactly human, he wasn't overly surprised by it. He did find it strangely comforting that he wasn't the only one walking around with something strange marked on his forehead. All of the Jaffa had the mark of the Go'auld they used to serve tattooed in the center of their brow. Harry said hello as he came into the tent and they nodded back. They'd all finished up the evening run at the same time ( it was the one aspect of training in which Harry could actually keep up with his age group) but Harry had gone to the stream on the other side of the hill from camp to wash up, so he was the last one in.

Professor McGonagall was sitting on his sleeping bag eating a mouse, or the animal that did a mouse's job on this planet anyway. It had six legs and tentacles in place of whiskers. She glared at him for a moment and then went back to dissecting her dinner on his bed. She was acting more like a normal cat everyday. He wasn't sure if it was a side effect of her being trapped in her Animagus form for so long, or simply that she was losing her desire to speak to him.

"Hello professor," Harry said, as he sat down on the end of the sleeping bag, as far as he could get from the mouse guts.

"We must return to Earth," she said not looking up from her dinner.

"I tried to send you back." Harry murmured in a low voice so as not to disturb his roommates.

Harry had tried to send her back with Teal'c but she had refused to go. Or let go, rather. Harry still had the claw marks on the back of his neck and shoulders.

"I doubt I would have gone anywhere but a lab. You trust these people too much."

"They've never lied to me," Harry pointed out.

He picked up the green backpack from the end of his bed. The soldiers had packed it for him at the alpha site; a few changes of underwear and socks, a spare shirt, and a tooth brush. He'd never had many possessions, but he sorely missed having something to write with. He refolded his socks, busily ignoring the now glaring cat.

"We did not lie to you Mr. Potter."

"No, you're right. Conspiring and plotting about me behind my back really isn't lying is it? You would have had to tell me something for it to be a lie."

"You are not the center of the universe Mr. Potter. We could not possibly include you in most of the Order's activities. You were left out for your own protection."

"Well now I am left out of all of it. What should I go back for?"

"You have to go back so Dumbledore can help you."

"So what can he do? What amazing ability has he developed in the last month that you've heard of and I haven't? Or are you saying the first time I was nearly tortured to death he merely wasn't trying very hard?"

The cat stopped picking at her catch long enough to look put out.

"Hiding from your problems won't solve them Mr. Potter," she said.

"Firstly, I am not hiding. I'm learning how to defend myself-"

"You are learning how to hit people with sticks-"

"And secondly," Harry continued, cutting her off. "What problem do our people have that we don't hide from? We hide from the entire damn planet!"

"You have responsibilities-"

"Responsibilities! To what? To who? Where did I sign that said I volunteered to have my life ruined and my family slaughtered? Or is it that stupid Prophesy again? Because I didn't die when he shot me in the head it's my job to stop him? What kind of sense does that make!"

"You need to take what you were told that night I context."

"And what context would improve "one must die at the other's hand"?"

"Your responsibility-"

"You can take 'responsibilities' and shove them down your…mouse…hole…"

Harry stopped mid rant. He realized he was standing, but didn't remember doing it. He was pointing dramatically at McGonagall. The three Jaffa were staring at him with their mouths hanging open. He supposed they thought him quite mad for arguing with his cat. He told himself he didn't care.

He stormed out of the tent and did not look back. He crushed down his anger for the few minutes it took to creep out past the night watch and then took off at a run. The forest was dark around him, but he knew where he was going. It was mostly up hill, so he'd burned off the last of his rage by the time he reached the circle of stones.

He'd come across this place in his first week at camp, during mock battles with the zats. There were a few other ruins in the area, but he liked this place the best. The stones sat in a ring a few inches apart. They were about the height and shape of headstones and there were ancient carvings in them, melted to almost nothing by time, but the circle didn't remind him of a graveyard. In the center of the circle there was a dead tree. It was only about twenty feet tall and burned in several places as if struck by lightening. It might have been an oak tree, but the smaller branches had a strange red-ish bark on them that he'd never seen the like of on Earth. Since it was an alien planet and all, the tree might not even have been dead.

Harry climbed over the ring of stones and settled down at the base of the tree. There was a layer of dead leaves that made it into a very comfortable spot. None of the moons were out that night, so Harry put his hand on one of the roots and concentrated.

"Lumos!"

A small handprint of blue light appeared on the bark. It would fade in a quarter of an hour, but until then it was a comforting success. He practiced what little wand less magic he could when he was by himself there. It was going better then he would have hoped. He could conjure flames, slight breezes and lights, and with much exertion had been able to knock over a small pile of stones with a wand less Reducto. He only practiced when he was completely alone. He didn't want the Jaffa to think he was some kind of Go'auld spy or something, since those aliens could do something similar to magic with their advanced technology. He didn't want McGonagall to know either, though he thought that probably had more to do with spite then anything else. He sat there going over other spells he though might work wandlessly, and after two hours managed to get a dead leaf to hover a few inches above his hand. By then he was feeling more exhausted then he had after the 10 mile run, so he put his hands on the roots and started to push himself up, intending to go back to the camp. McGonagall would probably be asleep by then.

A sharp pain shot through his right wrist. He jerked him arm away. Harry made another luminous hand print, and leaned over to inspect the injury. Somehow he'd managed to stab himself on a large thorn like growth on the side of the root. The end of it had snapped off and lodged. He moved the fingers of his right hand and burning sensation spread through his hand. _Of course I would find a poison plant to injure myself on_. He grabbed the end of the thorn and tried to pull it out. The fingers of his right hand clench of their own accord. _And it's touching a nerve, lovely._ Mo'tha was not going to be happy about this. He was just climbing over the stones when the first wave of dizziness hit. _Extra lovely_, he thought as the world tilted and disappeared.

* * *

The branches of the hedge were broken, but the sap had already crusted over.

"He passed this way, no more then a day ago," Bre'tac said.

The two young warriors nodded and inspected the branches as they passed. Bre'tac shaded his eyes and looked further up the hill. There were no other signs of the boy. The old man adjusted his cloak and marched on. If the boy had not traveled this way the hill top would at least be a good vantage point to search from.

When Teal'c had brought the boy to their camp, Bre'tac had agreed to take him in, and when Teal'c had explained that the boy wished to learn the ways of the Jaffa warriors, Bre'tac agreed to have him trained. The boy had potential as a scout, he was light and fast and had particularly fine aim with a both staff weapons and the Zat'nek'tal, but he would never be much of a warrior. Though he was rarely in the camp, Bre'tac had observed the boy on several occasions. He seemed unwilling to strike his opponents, and would dodge rather then fight back. He also seemed a bit mad, even for a Tauri. On more then one occasion the Jaffa master had seen the boy arguing with his cat.

Teal'c had given him few details of the boy's past. The boy had somehow saved O'Neill's life, and was now hunted by the Trust, the same group that had murdered thousands of Jaffa, enemy and ally alike, with chemical weapons only a few months ago. Bre'tac thought it was unlikely they had tracked the boy this far, but the search was all the more urgent for it. A strange boot print told him he was on the right path. A hundred yards later he was found.

The boy lay on his back, eyes staring unblinking up at the sky. For a moment Bre'tac thought him dead, but as he stepped closer he saw the rise and fall of his chest. Other than that he was completely still. The only mark on him was a small puncture on his right wrist. Bre'tac motioned for the two young men to circle around and inspect the area.

"Boy!" Bre'tac called. "Boy! Get to your feet!"

There was no response as he moved swiftly to the boy's side, and none as he lightly slapped the side of his face. The boy was burning with fever. The young Jaffa returned.

"We saw nothing unusual, Master."

Bre'tac nodded.

"We will carry him back to the camp."

* * *

When he opened his eyes the world was at a very strange angle; nearly upside down in fact. Harry swallowed and sat up. He was on a table in Mo'tha's tent. He reached around, trying to find his glasses. Even without them he could see that his right hand was heavily bandaged. He looked around a bit more, but froze as motion in the dark corner of the tent caught his eye. A glittering object sailed towards him. His hand darted out and caught it.

"You are not nearly as blind as the Joe'mec seems to believe," a familiar voice stated.

Though still half hidden, he recognized Master Bre'tac. Harry wasn't sure if he should be standing or not. He started to swing his feet off the edge of the table, but it wasn't the sturdiest piece of furniture. It tilted over and dumped him on the ground. Harry put on his glasses and scrambled up again.

"Though perhaps the other comments were in earnest," the old man continued.

"Mister Bre'tac, sir…er…sorry. I…uh…don't really know what's going on," Harry finished lamely.

"I found you in the forest a few miles from the camp. You injured your self on some sort of venomous plant. A fragment of it is still lodged in your hand. Mo'tha considered cutting it out, but with out a symbiote, such an injury would never fully heal. You have been unconscious for four days. We intended to return you to the alpha site if you did not wake by night fall."

"Oh."

"You have marks upon you. A skull and serpent burned into your skin. Were you once a prisoner of the System Lord Sokar?"

Harry looked down and realized that his shirt was unbuttoned. He'd managed not to show off Voldemort's decoration since he arrived.

"I don't know who Sokar is. This happened on Earth."

Maybe there was something in Harry's tone, but Bre'tac did not pursue the issue.

"You may resume training tomorrow," he said before turning to leave.

Harry nodded. The Jaffa weren't much for sick days. He supposed he liked that announcement slightly better then the enforced convalescence he would have been restricted to at Hogwarts in a similar situation. Though he thought he might actually need it in this case. He started to walk out of the tent, but a wave of dizziness stopped him short. He sat cross legged on the floor of the tent, with his head in his hands, waiting for it to pass.

"I don't suppose this most recent incident has brought you to your senses?" asked a put upon voice, a few inches from his nose.

He opened his eyes and saw Professor McGonagall staring up at him with bright yellow cat's eyes.

"I'll have them take you back," Harry said.

"While you stay here and compound one foolish decision after another? I think not. Forget for a moment our earlier argument about You-Know-Who and what is expected of you. Think about where you are right now! These people, now matter how noble or skilled you believe them to be, are involved in a war that they have little chance of winning. When their enemy comes through that star portal you will be lost as well! You won't even have your wand to defend yourself!"

"I don't need it." Harry said.

"You seriously intend to fight with those weighted staffs?" the cat asked with contempt.

Frustrated, Harry got to his feet and searched the tent. He picked out a shard of broken pottery that had been pushed into the corner. He set it before the cat. He held out his bandaged hand, and closed his eyes to focus.

"Wingardium Leviosa," he said.

The pottery shard took off through the roof of the tent with the force of a small rocket. Harry hardly noticed, despite McGonagall's explosive yowl. It was overshadowed by the strange sensation in between the bones of his right palm. As he focused his magic on the pottery, the thorn embedded in his hand moved. The pain was very slight, but it was overwhelmingly disturbing. Harry unraveled the bandages and inspected the scab that had closed over the puncture wound in his wrist. There was a barely discernable lump in the very center of his hand. The thorn must have migrated. Harry gave it a careful prod with his left pinky. It didn't seem to be moving any longer. When he looked up, McGonagall was still staring at the roof of the tent.

"Without a wand…" she muttered, before slowly turning towards him. "How?"

"I've been practicing," Harry said, moving his right hand behind his back as innocently as he could.

"Practicing?"

"I've been trying spells without my wand and they've worked."

"And just like that, wand less magic?"

Harry nodded.

"It shouldn't be possible…not with so little training…" McGonagall turned towards him with a question half formed in her tiny fanged mouth.

A sharp pain exploded in the top of his skull.

Harry woke up on the table again a few hours later. Mo'tha had returned and was mixing something together in a bowl a few inches away from his aching head. Harry left after thanking her for dealing with his injuries once again. He couldn't come up with a good answer for her parting question however. She asked who hit him over the head with a chunk of broken pottery. "I threw it in the air and forgot about it" seemed too stupid a response.

* * *

With seven resounding clanks the gate came to life. Harry jumped a bit as the swirling vortex of light burst out of the gate, only to be sucked back in on itself a moment later. He raised his staff weapon as those around him did the same. Master Bre'tac stumbled through, and five other Jaffa came right on his heals. Harry only recognized one of them from the camp, but no one else was firing so he didn't. The gate shut down.

"Tur'bak has been captured by Ba'al's forces. This camp is no longer secure," Bre'tac announced.

"How long do we have, Master?" called Joe'mec, the leader of Harry's watch.

"As long as Tur'bak gives us," he replied, jogging up the hill.

The rest of the Jaffa joined them on guard duty at the gate. Joe'mec went to the gate and dialed up an out going gate. From what Harry understood of the machine, no one could dial in while their gate was on, so they'd be safe for a while. Harry watched the control panel light up as the seven symbols were typed in. The soldiers at the alpha site had called the control panel a Dial Home Device. The inner ring of the gate spun like an old fashioned rotary phone. Another pool of light formed.

Everyone knew the contingency plan. The Jaffa could never hold a planet against the Go'auld. They'd have to make a run for it. Harry shifted his staff weapon from one hand to the other. He didn't really know what to do, despite his training. He had to stay at his post. He'd left his bag packed, so he supposed it would just get grabbed up with the other gear. He hoped the Professor would come down to the gate when she noticed everyone else leaving. He didn't know if he'd be able to go back for her. He puzzled over whether to ask for permission to go find his cat for another forty minutes until the gate shut down again.

_We're evacuating._ His heart was beating much too fast. He supposed that was part of real war. None of the Jaffa seemed nervous. Even Ro'dan was calm. Everyone was expressionless to the point of looking bored until the lights on the gate came on again. Joe'mec had been reaching for the DHD to dial out again, but someone had beaten him to it.

"Cree Jaffa!" Joe'mec called.

They spread out, and the air sizzled as their staff weapons activated.

_This is it. This is it. This is it._ The useless mantra repeated itself over and over again in his head. The first enemy soldier through the gate was hit square in the chest and toppled down the three broad steps in front of the gate. The second one joined him with a shot to the belly. The third was struck in the chest as well, but then there was a fifth and a sixth and a seventh. Suddenly there were twenty of them and more coming every second. _This is it._

Harry couldn't remember exactly when he started firing. He was only partially aware that he was doing so. Harry dodged a bit as blast of orange light tore past his leg. He managed not to throw off his shot too badly as he did. One after another the enemy fell, but more came to replace them. He dodged again. There was no cover but the DHD and that was already occupied. He ducked and rolled as three different Jaffa took shots at him. Dirt flew up around him.

_They have to be hearing this in the camp. Help is coming. _

The gate was at the very top of the hill so every angle of fire was in the enemy's favor. Harry fired and side stepped. He was moving so quickly he had trouble figuring out where he was. They kept coming. He pulled out his Zat and fired that with his left, the staff still blazing in his right. Then suddenly there was silence. The gate was still open but no one was coming through. Harry looked around, feeling suddenly stunned. The ground was littered with bodies. Only five others were still standing, all of them rebels. The fight could not have lasted more then a few minutes.

A faint moan caught Harry's attention. He ran toward the sound, hopping over other dead and dying Jaffa to get to the familiar voice. Ro'dan must have been charging toward the gate when he was hit. The wound was high in the center of his chest. Blood was welling out of it in time with his pulse. He looked up at Harry. He was struggling to say something and Harry would have bet his entire vault that it was "I die free."

Harry had never learned any healing spells. He'd never even tried to fix a paper cut. He knew a few potions but there were no ingredients. There was no time. He held out his right hand, and tried the only spell that was even remotely related.

"Reparo."

Ro'dan's entire body stiffened. Then his eyes rolled up and he started to shake. The thing in Harry's hand was writhing and grating against the bones.

"Reparo."

The wound was suddenly gushing. The shaking was getting worse.

A shout from the Jaffa behind him drew Harry's attention back to the gate. A metal sphere about the size of a magic eight ball was bouncing down the steps of the gate. Harry dove for it. As he scooped it up he was surprised by the weight. He stumbled a little as he compensated and threw. It sailed back at the gate. Halfway through the wall of blue light it exploded in a blinding flash.

Harry blinked but couldn't see. He realized he was lying on the ground. His ears rang. He could hear staff weapons firing again. Someone was shouting and grabbing him. He was dragged tipping and stumbling along. He was shoved against something hard and cracked his head painfully against what he realized was the DHD.

"Remain here until your vision returns!"

He didn't have a chance to argue. His rescuer had returned to the fight. Back up from the camp must have arrived. Harry felt around. There was another person next to him, apparently unconscious. He flinched as a shot hit the DHD right above his head. He blinked rapidly, and he thought the darkness across his eyes lightened a bit. A sudden weight in his lap made him jump a bit and he knocked his head against the DHD again.

"I don't suppose you now believe what I said about this being a bad idea, Mr. Potter?"

"Professor?" Harry gasped, ducking instinctively as another shot flew past his head. "What's going on?"

"From what I understand you picked up some sort of "shock grenade" and tried to throw it away. While you did manage to reduce the force of the blast by throwing the grenade into the portal, you were exposed to what ever manner of alien sorcery it produced. They expect the blindness to last several hours. Of course they expected you to be unconscious for at least that long as well."

"How many of Ba'al's troupes are through?"

"A good many of them. It would be prudent of you to get this collar off of me so I can get you out of here."

"I can't leave! They're being overrun. I have to help!"

"What can you do? There are too many of them for even me to disarm and there are more coming. You said you wanted no part of battles you could not win. Think of where you are Mr. Potter!"

"I can do something here. They have no magic. There has to be…"

His mind whirled. What spells did he know that could take out a group that size. All the jinxes and curses he knew were only effective in one on one dueling. He could conjure mist but then the rebels might just end up shooting each other in the confusion. Not to mention that most of those spells he'd never tried without his wand. What? What? What? A distraction? Harry clenched his fist. The thing in his hand was twisting as if it knew he was about to cast a spell. He pressed his hand to the ground. The sounds of fighting were all around him and growing closer every second.

"Verto!"

"Mr. Potter what are you doing?"

"Verto!"

"Any kind of complex transfiguration would be impossible without-"

"Verto!"

It felt almost as if something were running out of his arm, a reverse electrical shock. He tried to cut it off or slow it down, but couldn't think of how. Magic was bleeding out of him into the ground, and the thing in his hand was going absolutely insane. It seemed moment's away from tearing out through his skin. But it seemed worth it as his half formed idea became reality. The shouts coming from the grounds in front of the gate changed from battle cries and oaths of vengeance to incomparable surprise. Harry blinked and the world around him became brighter by another few degrees. Shadowy figures were struggling to move as they sunk into the ground that had rapidly gone from solid to the consistency of wet cornflakes.

McGonagall let out a hiss and scrambled up Harry's back to get on top of the DHD. Harry felt his knees sinking into the mire he'd summoned up. The DHD was sinking as well. Harry reached over with his left hand and grabbed a hold of the unconscious person he had felt earlier, before their head could go under. As the idea no longer seemed quite such a good one, Harry tried to stop the spell, but his arm seemed frozen to the ground.

"Finite! Nox! Stop all ready!"

It didn't help. The shouting from the hillside around them was starting to grow more then a little panicked. Harry squinted, trying to see. Most of the Jaffa were sunk up to there armpits. If he didn't do something soon friend and enemy alike were going to smother. There was a sudden metallic groan. _As if things couldn't get worse…_

Though his vision was not nearly back to normal, it was rather hard to miss the fact that the Stargate was tipping over. It only took a few moments for the gate to end up entirely horizontal. The stones it was set in didn't seem to want to sink any further, so the gate just lay there on its side. Enemy soldiers were still trying to come through, but they fell back into the shimmering blue light moments after they appeared through it.

_The gate only goes one way…_

It took several moments for him to realize that all those people were dying. You could only go one way through the gate. He wondered if being dematerialized hurt. When they come through the gate and saw only the sky, they must know they're about a second away from death. Only one of them called out for help.

Harry was up to his neck in muck when the gate shut itself down. He tried again to stop the spell. As the magic drained out of him he felt steadily weaker, but it didn't seem to be stopping. As the mud came up over his chin he wondered if the rebels would be able to escape with the gate the way it was. He struggled to get up out of the muck, but one of his arms was stuck and he couldn't pull himself up without letting go of the unconscious Jaffa next to him. If he let go he could save himself. Something shifted under him and suddenly the mud was closing over his head. He supposed that made the decision rather moot.


	13. My Enemy's Enemy's Former Roommate

**Author's Note: **Sorry this chapter took so long. I had like 10,000 words written, but then I had to scrap it because it just wasn't working out. I hate having to scrap chapters, and I'm sure everyone hates having to wait because of it, but it's quality over quantity right? And then there were finals, horrible, horrible finals. Any who, things are rolling again. Tell me what you think.

**Crumpets Aren't My Style**

**By Marz**

**My Enemy's Enemy's Former Roommates**

The sky was too orange and the air smelled like mothballs. His eyes watered, his nose ran, and flecks of spit splattered down his arm with each cough. He could feel the dirt still rattling around in his lungs. His stomach contracted again and he gagged. Harry took another gasping, wheezing breath and struggled to get to his feet. His hands slipped out of under him and he fell again.

"Perhaps you had better stay down, Mr. Potter," said the cultured voice of Professor McGonagall.

Harry rolled over so he could see her. His glasses were lost, but she was near enough to his face that he could make her out. He tried to ask how he got there, but another fit of hacking came over him. His teacher flicked her slightly singed tail.

"I had to claw quite a few people before they finally got round to digging you up," she said. "The spell shut down when you did, apparently. You'd managed to inhale quite a bit of soil and your heart had stopped. That Mo'tha woman had to start you up breathing again. You've been unconscious for nearly four hours. You gave me quite a fright, Mr. Potter."

"Sorry," he managed to wheeze between coughs. His vision turned red at the edges as he struggled for air. "Where…hack…where…houggggggg….where….?" he couldn't get his question out, but she got the gist of it.

"We've moved planets. I don't know the name of this one. The Rebels dropped you through the gate as soon as you were breathing again, and of course I followed. They've put you a bit outside the camp. Apparently there is some debate about what you are and what to do with you. It seems about time you got this collar off of me, Mr. Potter. If they decide against you, you will most likely need my help."

"They…chough…the…Jaffa…huk…huuuuuuuuuu Ro'dan is…he…?"

"The little boy that keeps breaking your fingers? He's not up and walking yet, but that Mo'tha character seems to think he'll make a full recovery. Really Mr. Potter, the reparo charm isn't meant to be used on living things. If it wasn't for that parasite, that spell wouldn't have helped him."

"But…hack hack…he's ok."

The cat nodded. "You need to worry more about yourself."

Harry shrugged and lay back for a moment. What would they do with him? He supposed he could come clean about being a wizard, but he didn't know if that would help him. They might think he was trying to pull the same stunt the Go'auld had used on them, claiming to have magic and incomprehensible powers in an attempt to control them. He could just play dumb, he supposed, act like he didn't know what he did or how he did it. It wasn't likely to fool Bre'tac though.

His thoughts were interrupted as he heard footsteps coming through the leaves around him. Harry tried to get up but his arms wouldn't support him. The approaching figure was a tall man dressed in tan clothes, rather then the shades of gray worn by the Jaffa. Harry couldn't see him very well, as his glasses were lost, but he didn't see a tattoo on the man's forehead. Harry was attempting to speak when the man pulled a zat from behind his back and pointed it in Harry's face. McGonagall hissed.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" the man asked in a strangely resonant voice.

"What's…hack….look like I'm doing?" Harry said trying again to rise.

The zat chimed as the man charged it.

"You will answer me," the man demanded.

It was difficult to glare convincingly while coughing, but Harry gave it his best. He thought he might have enough strength in him for a stunning curse, though he'd never had much luck with that one wandless. He clenched his right hand and the thorn embedded under his skin gave a disturbing twitch, as if it knew he was going to use magic.

"Stu-"

"Cree Jaffa!"

The man lowered his zat as six rebels stepped out of concealment in the surrounding vegetation. McGonagall leapt up and nipped the man's fingers. He jumped and dropped the zat.

"Pointing a weapon at an injured child! What is wrong with these people?" she muttered as she hopped back over to Harry's side.

Of course everyone else only heard "Meeeeeeow!"

"Identify yourself!" ordered the lead Jaffa.

Harry recognized him but couldn't remember his name. The stranger did not answer. The Jaffa came forward and bound the man's hands behind his back. Another came and helped Harry to his feet.

"Go and tell Master Bre'tac," the lead Jaffa ordered.

"Bre'tac?" the prisoner said, his voice suddenly sounding like that of a normal man. "You are free Jaffa?"

"We are!" the leader said proudly.

"I am Lanshu of the Tok'ra," he announced, resonating again. "I demand you release me."

The lead Jaffa snorted. "You are in no position to make demands. Bre'tac will decide your fate." The Jaffa turned to Harry, who was staggering along with them. "The counsel has come to a decision about you as well."

"Goody," Harry muttered.

The new camp was still fairly chaotic. It was set up at the edge of a dense jungle, which seemed to be the source of the mothball smell Harry had noted earlier. There were crates and baskets set about randomly. A few bodies lay wrapped and unrecognizable under a small pavilion. The rebels still working paused to watch them as they passed. They seemed more interested in Harry than in the Tok'ra, which made him nervous. Several of the watching Jaffa were also very dirty. The instant quicksand stunt at the gate probably hadn't made him too many friends.

Bre'tac and several other graying Jaffa stood in a pavilion in the center of the camp. They all looked very solemn as Harry and the prisoner approached. Again Harry seemed to have most of their attention, but they spoke to the Tok'ra first.

"Lanshu of the Tok'ra," Bre'tac said, apparently recognizing him. "Why are you here?"

"I need not answer you. Our alliance was dissolved," Lanshu said, his voice going all strange again.

"Your unwillingness to battle alongside us does not speak in your favor," said a female Jaffa, another stranger to Harry.

"I have nothing to say to the soldiers of the Go'auld," Lanshu said.

"You are Go'auld yourself," called a Jaffa who had wandered over to watch.

"I am Tok'ra!" Lanshu declared, his eyes suddenly glowing orange.

"I'm confused," Harry said, rather more loudly then he meant to.

The Jaffa all turned to stare at him.

"We have decided you may stay with us, if you do not wish to return to the Tauri, but we require the truth from you. We will discuss those matters later, after this Tok'ra has been dealt with. Return in two hours," Bre'tac said.

Harry supposed the "go" was implied. He bowed and walked away. He really wanted to know what was going on with that Tok'ra, who may or may not be a Go'auld, but the desire to get the taste of dirt and bile out of his mouth was a little stronger than his curiosity at that moment. McGonagall climbed up onto the roof of the pavilion and sat. He supposed he could get a summary of what went on from her.

He noticed the pack he'd been given at the alpha site among some baskets of supplies and picked it up. He asked a Jaffa woman if there was a stream or something nearby and she gave him directions. She said that they had set up a guarded perimeter three kilometers out, but not to wander much beyond the stream. It took him ten minutes to find his way there. He knelt by the water, scrubbing his face and hands. The water was clear and moved quickly. He could see smooth stones at the bottom. He thought maybe he should worry about leeches or bacteria, but thirst won out and he washed out his mouth, and then drank. He looked up and down the stream, and seeing no one else around decided it wouldn't hurt to have a quick wash and do some laundry. Of course five seconds after he was in his birthday suit company arrived.

"Who are you?"

Harry whirled. The water was up to his chest, so this involved a fair amount of splashing. He finally picked out the speaker. There was a boy crouched in the foliage on the other side of the stream. He had unusually large brown eyes and a bald, almost transparent-looking head. He was dressed in tan and Harry saw he had a zat strapped to his side. Harry guessed the stranger was in his mid-teens.

"I'm Harry Potter," he answered.

"I'm Charlie," the boy said. "And Paclan is with me too."

Harry looked around but didn't see anybody else.

"Nice to meet you," Harry said without much enthusiasm.

"What are you doing?" Charlie asked.

Harry thought of saying "what does it look like I'm doing?", but was worried it would be taken as an invitation to watch. The people on this planet certainly had a propensity for dumb questions.

"I'm covered in dirt, so I'm taking a bath."

"Why are you covered in dirt?"

"Because I accidentally buried myself alive earlier today."

"Why?"

"I ask myself the same question."

The other boy lapsed into silence. Harry sighed and went back to washing. He thought the bald boy might have been a Tok'ra too, but as he didn't seem overly threatening, Harry hoped simply ignoring him would inspire him to go away.

"You cause strange disruptions in the space around you," the boy said as Harry was getting dressed again.

"What?" Harry asked, picking bits of leaves off of his socks.

"Mother created me to see more than I normally would, so I could see her and speak to the humans for her. You look strange. You take up more space than you should. You're in more then one phase."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Harry said.

"Probably not," Charlie agreed.

Charlie sat on the other side of the stream staring at him for a few more minutes, then waved and wandered back into the jungle. Harry repacked his still slightly damp laundry and headed back to the camp. A dozen more Tok'ra had arrived and there was an argument in full swing at the meeting pavilion.

"How do you know you weren't followed?" a Tok'ra man with short curly brown hair was demanding.

"We would not set up a base camp here if we were not certain of it," Joe'mec said.

"This is unacceptable!" declared a Tok'ra woman with short blond hair. "You will lead the Go'auld to a world we have kept hidden for centuries."

"This world is known to the system lords," Bre'tac said. "It is simply not worth their effort to colonize."

"But now they will know we are here and they will come!"

"How will they know?"

"You have spies within your ranks."

"You dare question our honor?"

"If you have claim to this world, we will move on," Bre'tac said, trying to be reasonable.

"It is too late. You will only lead them back to us."

McGonagall sat up on the roof of the pavilion and stretched. She nodded to Harry and then hopped off the roof. She landed on the shoulder of a dark-skinned Tok'ra before taking a second leap to the ground. The man let out a startled shout.

"Keep that beast under control!"

McGonagall looked disdainfully back over her shoulder. Harry was rather glad at that moment that everyone else only heard "Mew". The Tok'ra man watched McGonagall until she reached Harry and climbed up onto his shoulder. His shirt was full of tiny claw holes from her doing that all the time.

"Why is that Tauri boy here?" asked a red-haired Tok'ra woman in a rather skimpy outfit.

"He is training with us. Do not defer from the matter at hand," Bre'tac said.

"It is unfortunate that this planet is such a point of contention between us," said Ish'tar, a Jaffa woman who had come to the camp a few days before the attack by Ba'al. "But we are here already. We have injured to care for and must regroup. We cannot leave for several days, at least. Perhaps we should simply stay out of each other's way until then."

It took another half hour of arguing, but the Rebel Jaffa and the Tok'ra finally agreed to ignore each other. Harry thought the entire situation was fairly ridiculous, but no one asked his opinion. The Tok'ra were escorted out of the camp and Bre'tac waved Harry over.

"We have much to discuss," the old warrior said.

* * *

Harry ended up giving Bre'tac a very watered-down version of the story he had given Teal'c a few months earlier. He told him he really was from Earth, and that he had always lived there in secret. He tried to skirt the issue of magic. He didn't really know how to explain it, and with McGonagall hanging about he didn't want to risk saying too much. Master Bre'tac seemed to take it at face value that turning the ground to liquid was something Harry had always been able to do, without knowing how. He told Harry to stay out of trouble and went off to oversee something or other. Harry, having nothing to do, went to check on Ro'dan. The younger boy lay in Mo'tha's tent, looking gray and pale, but he did smile when he saw Harry.

"I have survived my first battle," he said rather proudly.

Harry was tempted to say "You almost didn't." but kept his mouth shut, and nodded.

"Are you feeling better?" Harry asked.

"Of course, my symbiote will have me healed by tomorrow. I am certain. Master Bre'tac said I could join the adult warriors' training now. I think he will let you join them as well."

Harry thought about the still-aching injuries he had from kiddy combat practice. "I don't know if that will work out so well," he said.

"Do not doubt yourself! Though you have no skill in unarmed combat, I have never seen such precise aim with a staff weapon; three kills with your first three shots. I only hit two of Ba'al's Jaffa before I was struck down. How many did you kill?" the young Jaffa asked.

"I…I don't remember," Harry answered. He really didn't. The battle was a confused blur in his memory; dodging, ducking, weaving. Only a few scenes stood out clearly. He remembered taking aim, but the results of his shots were somehow missing.

"You hit Ba'al's first prime in the stomach! How could you not remember?"

"I don't know," Harry muttered.

"His symbiote and intestines fell right out on the ground. I certainly would not forget something like that."

Harry didn't know if he said anything to Ro'dan after that. The next thing he knew he was walking into the jungle with a twisting pain in the center of his chest. He had slumped to the ground. As he thought back to that battle, a lifetime ago but really only that morning, things floated to the surface. He remembered. The second Jaffa through the gate, Harry remembered aiming, and the surprised look on the man's face as he fell to the ground with a smoking hole in his stomach. He could recall, now, the man falling to the ground. The other Jaffa had had to step over him as they came down the steps. His hands had curled and uncurled as if he were trying to grab something. Harry wasn't sure when he started crying, but he was almost cried out when he realized someone was watching him.

"Master Bre'tac," Harry said, getting up.

He made one last attempt to clean off his face, but the Jaffa could probably see that it was wet.

"I was…I was…"

"You were crying," Bre'tac stated.

"No! No, it's just that I…I still have dirt in my eye-"

"Jaffa warriors do not lie," the old warrior said sharply.

Harry watched him for a few moments, not sure how to answer.

"Why do you act this way?" Bre'tac asked.

Harry still didn't know what to say. Bre'tac looked angry about something, but Harry wasn't sure if it was because he'd wandered out of camp again without telling anyone, or something about the quicksand stunt he'd pulled at the gate, or any number of cultural incompatibility errors he may have committed.

"Explain what you are doing out here," Bre'tac said, clarifying.

"I didn't want people to see me," Harry answered hanging his head.

"I do not mean why you left the camp. Why do you weep?"

Harry was again uncertain. He looked up at Bre'tac through tangled and overgrown hair. He started to respond several times, but cut himself off. The Jaffa master was starting to look impatient, so Harry finally spit something out.

"People are dead because of me," Harry answered. "People are dead because I killed them and I…I didn't even care. I shot them and I didn't care. I killed all those people and I didn't even know them."

"Do you believe they would have spared you? Or anyone else in the camp had they been allowed to pass?" Bre'tac asked, as if he found Harry's contemplations offensive.

"I…I…"

"Could you have stopped them without killing them?"

"I might have….I tried…"

Bre'tac cut him off. "Then why do you sit here mourning and wallowing in self-pity? The universe is not as it should be, and cannot be any other way if those able to change it are unwilling to act."

"But this killing, is that how it should be? Is that the better way? I don't think I can do it again."

"I think you can," Bre'tac said. "I think you are afraid."

"I'm not afraid to die," Harry said, which wasn't true, but seemed the right thing to say.

"You are afraid," the Jaffa Master stated. "Perhaps you are afraid you are like them? Do you think that killing Ba'al's soldiers to aid in our defense has made you into something you are not? You think you have become a mindless follower, killing without feeling or thought? What is it?"

"I'm not a murderer," Harry mumbled, unable to look up.

"And you think I am?"

"No! You don't have a choice. But I…I don't know. It isn't right."

"I made a choice nearly a hundred years ago, long before I became First Prime of Apophis and leader of his armies. I saw then that those who ruled us were not what they claimed. I could have fled or tried to assassinate my Master; instead, I chose to stay in his service. I killed for him and tried to keep as many of the other Jaffa, my brothers, alive as possible. I did great evil in his name, all the while looking and hoping for an opportunity to free all of my people from the Go'auld. When my former student, Teal'c defected to the Tauri I allowed myself to believe that change was coming. I now lead Jaffa against Jaffa. Those we hope to free are our greatest opponents. Every battle we fight leaves the blood of our brothers on our hands. Yet if we were unwilling to do battle, the Go'auld would remain unchallenged in their tyranny. Where is the right in all of that?"

"Maybe all of it is wrong," Harry answered.

"It may be, but what else is there?"

"I don't know," Harry said.

"A person leaves a bit of themselves behind in every battle they fight. The first battles take the most," Bre'tac said, looking up at the stars, barely visible through the jungle canopy. "Now you mourn what is lost, but you may be better off without it. The world is too uncertain for you to survive for long, otherwise. If you intend to sleep this night, return to camp soon. Training resumes at dawn."

Bre'tac turned suddenly and started back towards the camp. Harry felt more confused and slightly dizzy, but the urge to cry had left him. He got to his feet and followed.

* * *

The next few days passed slowly. Training resumed, and this time Harry was allowed to practice with people his own age. He didn't feel quite so bad about hitting larger opponents with the staff weapon, so he actually managed to score a few hits and disarm his partner several times. Of course, the Jaffa warriors his age were also about three times as strong as he was, and he had a purple patchwork of bruises to prove it. His only advantage was slightly quicker reflexes that allowed him to get out of the way of more devastating strikes. He was getting a reputation as a dodger, but found he didn't care that much, as long as he wasn't getting a broken arm every other day.

McGonagall agreed to work with him as he tried wandless transfiguration, but they rarely had the privacy to practice. Harry had noticed that weird kid, Charlie, watching him from the jungle when he went to get water for the camp and sometimes when he was out running with the other Jaffa. He had waved to him a couple of times.

As the first week on "planet mothball" came to a close Harry once again noticed Charlie hanging out by the stream again as he and a few of the younger Jaffa washed the dishes from the evening meal. Charlie waved and Harry waved back. Tre'ak elbowed Harry in the ribs.

"You shouldn't talk to him," Tre'ak said. "He's Tok'ra. Their kind have no honor."

"They claim they aren't Go'auld but if they can't find a host who will volunteer, they take the nearest human," said Ro'dan.

Charlie was watching the exchange with huge sad eyes.

"Stop it. He can hear you," Harry hissed.

"Why should we care if a parasite hears us?" said Tre'ak loudly.

There was a loud rustle of leaves as Charlie rushed off into the jungle. The Jaffa nodded to each other, silently passing along a "mission accomplished." Harry picked up his pile of dishes and stormed off. When the others were well out of sight, Harry stacked the dishes by a funny looking tree so he could find them later, and then waded across the stream.

It didn't take long to find Charlie. He'd left a trail Harry could have followed even before training with Bre'tac. But then the problem became what to do now that he was found. Charlie was crying and tearing leaves off a nearby plant, and then shredding those leaves into even smaller bits.

"Hey," Harry said awkwardly.

Charlie said nothing and continued shredding leaves.

"Sorry about those guys. They just…don't understand…that they're jerks," Harry finished lamely.

"They don't just grab the nearest human," Charlie said.

"Who?" Harry asked.

"The Tok'ra. They'd rather die then take a host against their will. It's just that once in a while someone panics and really, who wouldn't if they're dying, but that's the worst crime, you understand?"

"Not really," Harry said. He wasn't following the conversation, but Charlie had stopped crying so he guessed things weren't going that badly.

"Lanshu said you were from Earth," Charlie said, suddenly changing topic.

Harry nodded. "I'm from England."

"That's on Earth, though?"

Harry laughed and nodded. "What planet are you from?"

"I was created on Reetalia."

"Created?" Harry asked.

"Mother created me to act as an interpreter between her and the people of earth, so they could be warned of an impending attack. She was in a hurry and made lots of mistakes. If it wasn't for Paclan, I'd have died years ago."

"And Paclan is your…Tok'ra?"

Charlie nodded. "He's quiet most of the time. He doesn't talk to me much, because he thinks it will disrupt the formation of my personality if I'm constantly under his influence."

"Oh. So…er…are there lots of other kids with Tok'ra around?"

"I am the only host under the age of forty at the base."

Harry supposed that explained a lot. He knew what it was like to be stuck with a large group of people and not have any friends to commiserate with._ Remind me to shoot myself in the foot if I ever complain about fate again. _He'd thought having to fight Voldemort was a bad lot to draw, but this kid had him beat by a mile. Created by aliens so you could deliver a message and then die, that had just about everybody beat.

"Do you…want to…I don't know…play chess or something?" Harry ventured.

He didn't have a chess set or any other board game for that matter, but he couldn't really think of anything else to say.

"I used to play chess with Jack," Charlie said, looking up and smiling.

"With Mr. O'Neill?"

"He says I can call him Jack," Charlie declared proudly, but then his face fell. "He doesn't visit so much any more. Not at all, since the thing with Canin."

"What thing?"

"Jack was dying and Canin promised to heal him and then find another host. Jack didn't want to do it, but he finally agreed to when they said Canin had information that could save many Tok'ra lives if they could retrieve it. Canin took him and left the camp without permission and got captured by Ba'al. He left Jack there by himself. Ba'al tortured him to death for weeks, so I don't blame him for not coming to visit any more."

"Well that's…bad," Harry said.

"But we can play chess!" Charlie said as if suddenly remembering. "Come on!"

Reluctantly Harry followed after him. He wondered just how angry Bre'tac would get when he noticed Harry was gone. They didn't have any training scheduled for that evening, but he hadn't exactly been encouraged to visit the Tok'ra. They hiked up the side of the valley. Harry started to wonder if what the Jaffa had been saying about the Tok'ra was even a little bit true. He could be following Charlie right into a trap. Of course Charlie didn't seem the type to knock him over the head and put a parasitic snake into his brain, but then again, Quirrel didn't seem the type to strangle his students and Moody didn't seem the type to rig up a portkey to deliver him to Voldemort. _I really am an awful judge of character_, Harry though, pausing in his tracks.

"Almost there!" Charlie called back.

They scrambled over the top of the hill and then down into another ravine, where the ground was almost completely covered with black vines that cracked and oozed foul-smelling sap as they stepped on them. At the bottom of the ravine was a pit. The Harry looked over the edge, into the seemingly endless darkness below.

"We don't have to jump, do we?" he asked.

"Nope," Charlie said, stepping over the edge.

Harry lunged to catch him, but pulled up short when he realized Charlie wasn't actually falling. After another moment of hesitation, he stepped out after him. When they were both standing well clear of the edge, Harry looked down again.

"The ground feels weird."

"It isn't really the ground," Charlie started to explain. "The pit isn't an illusion. We're actually standing on a force field."

"Oh," said Harry. "So how do we get into the base from here?"

"Like this," said Charlie, as he pressed a button on what Harry had thought was a wristwatch.

The force field shut down. For half a second they were in free fall, and then with a loud whirring seven large metallic rings came up around them. For an instant everything disappeared in a flash of light, and then they were standing in a cavern. Harry looked around, blinking and amazed as the rings rose back into the ceiling. He stared in wonder at the crystals that formed the walls, ceiling and floor.

"This is very…cool," Harry said after a moment.

He was a bit shook up from those ring things. For a second it felt as if he was being painlessly torn into little pieces. He wondered if disapparating felt anything like that.

"Come on, my room's this way," Charlie said, grabbing his arm like an overexcited eight-year-old.

It turned out that Charlie wasn't the chess master that Ron was, but was still ridiculously better at the game than Harry. They'd been playing for about an hour before a very angry-looking Tok'ra with short curly hair burst into the room.

"Paclan! Rem shal ork nor cren Tauri!" he shouted in a booming voice.

Harry was pretty sure he was the target of the man's ire, as he was glaring at him with glowing eyes.

Charlie's eyes flashed the same disturbing orange and he answered in a similarly deep tone "He looked alright to me."

"Maybe I should leave," Harry said starting to get up.

"You will not move!" the man demanded.

Harry saw he was resting a hand on the zat strapped to his side. The man and Paclan/Charlie continued to argue, but they lapsed completely into that strange other language, so Harry wasn't following very well. He was feeling incredibly awkward, but didn't think there was a way to slip out of the room without being shot. He could see other people were gathering outside in the hall, and were arguing amongst themselves as well. A lot of people were staring at him.

He did his best to affect an air of complete boredom and tried to balance a captured bishop on its pointy little head. That accomplished, he began to balance the pawns, one at a time. They were a little harder than the bishops as they were round on the top, but after a few minutes he got them all up. He was starting on Charlie's pieces when he realized the argument had stopped. He looked up. They were still staring, but no longer at him. He looked down. Sixteen chess pieces stood, improbably balanced on their heads on the flat board. The thorn in his hand was twitching slightly.

"Crap," he muttered.

The pieces tipped and fell.

* * *

"We have few other options," Anise said.

She dimmed the lights in the lab and brought up the holograms she and Solit had constructed. They both knew it would take a lot of convincing to get Gel'et and the other high consulars of the Tok'ra to approve their plan, and a few shiny visual aids couldn't hurt their efforts. Lanshu stepped closer, peering at the images of the planet Ock'een suspiciously.

"You are certain your program will be able to override the system without Ba'al's detection? Of all the System Lords, he is the most skilled in detecting our inquests into his systems."

"If we can upload it into the subspace broadcasters before the system has been brought online and run through initial diagnostics, the program will not be found," Solit said confidently.

"And how will we get access to the systems on Ock'een?" asked Yolan. "Tieholtsodi is a minor Go'auld, but carefully guarded nonetheless. No Tok'ra would be able to sneak into his palace."

"Not a Tok'ra," Solit conceded.

"Who did you have in mind?" Gel'et asked.

"We need a human," Solit began.

"And where would you get one on such short notice?" Gel'et asked suspiciously.

"There is one in the rebel Jaffa camp at this very moment," Anise said. "The boy has been to our base several times and had developed a close friendship with Paclan's host, Charlie."

"You wish to send that boy, who has information about us, the rebels, and the Tauri into a situation where he may be captured and tortured for information, or taken as a host?" Gel'et asked.

"He will not be chosen as host," Anise said calmly. "He is too young and not a terribly attractive child. At worst he will be executed."

Gel'et frowned and stared into the holograms for several long moments. "You believe he will be willing to help you?"

Solit nodded. "Though it would be best if we did not tell Paclan, until the mission is well underway. He may not approve."

"It is the rebel Jaffa you should worry about," Yolan said. "They may not be willing to give the boy up to you."

"We will convince them," Solit said confidently.

* * *

"No."

"This opportunity will not come again," Solit said. "If we do not plant the override programs before the system is secured, we will lose a chance to monitor all of Ba'al's communications. Think of what we could do with such information!"

The leader of the rebels stood expressionless before her, glowering and unconvinced.

"O'Neill has entrusted him to us," Bre'tac said. "If I thought he was ready for such missions, he would be carrying them out with the free Jaffa he has trained with. Besides, the boy is too young."

"That is what makes him perfect for this mission," Anise said. "Our operative will get him into the group of human slaves being brought before Tieholtsodi, as potential hosts. He will be overlooked because of his age and sent back outside to continue work on the temples that that Go'auld is constructing. In the few hours he is inside he will be able to upload the program into the temple's communication systems."

"It is too great a risk. You To'kra have a habit of overstating the simplicity or security of a mission to get others to agree to participate in it."

"I swear upon my own life, the risk is minimal," said Solit.

Bre'tac scowled. "You may swear upon your life all you wish, but the boy will not go with you."

Solit, Anise, and Yolan nodded, slightly less then graciously, and walked out. They hadn't expected the Jaffa to agree readily, but they had not expected to be so bluntly denied access to the Tauri child. The boy had not been in the camp when they arrived, so there was no time to get him on their side before approaching Bre'tac. They were halfway back to the base when they noticed the boy jogging on a trail in the valley bellow them.

"Wait here," Solit said.

She slid down the hill. He noticed her coming and hesitated. For a moment she struggled to recall his name. The Tauri were easily offended when mistakes of that sort were made.

"Harry Potter?" she called.

"Yes?" he said, walking cautiously back towards her.

"I would speak to you for a moment."

* * *

When he saw Solit sliding down the hill towards him, he was more then a little concerned. After the incident with the chess pieces, the Tok'ra, other then Charlie, were constantly trying to get him to put his head into weird machines. Paclan said it was because they thought he might be a telekinetic Hok'tar. Harry finally submitted to a brain Xerox a few days earlier. He and Charlie were attempting to assemble a Risk board game, and that weird woman, Anise agreed to trade them some markers and cardboard for a scan of Harry's brain. She seemed very disappointed in it, saying he had unusually low levels of activity in his frontal lobe. He had been worried they wanted some follow up scans. What the Tok'ra woman was asking for took him completely by surprise.

"Would you be willing to help us?" she said after her woeful tale was finished.

Harry chewed his lower lip. He didn't trust them, except maybe Charlie. But then again they were on the same side, fighting Ba'al. And they sounded very sure the plan would work.

"But why would they just let me walk in?"

"Inspection of slaves is very lax. You will be brought from the marketplace, searched for weapons, and then brought to the palace for inspection and possible resale. You will be sent to work building the temples outside. I will retrieve you there."

"But won't they notice I've got the program thing with me? Won't they find it in the search?"

"They will search only for weapons and other symbiotes. The program will be encoded in a partially organic matrix. It will not be found. Time is very short."

"Alright. I just need to clear it with Bre'tac."

"He has already given his permission," Solit said. "That is what we were speaking to him about."

"Oh. Well I should probably go get my things."

"We have all the equipment you will need."

"I have to…tell my cat where I'm going…"

The Tok'ra woman looked at him skeptically.

"My cat…she's very…she'll drive everyone in camp nuts if I don't feed her."

"We will send someone to feed your cat, but time is of the essence. We must leave immediately if we are going to reach Ock'een before the communications systems are complete."

"But the shapa'i only takes…"

"We must travel by ship," Solit said.

Harry had a bad feeling about this, but then again he had never seen a spaceship before. And they did seem very sure of themselves.

"Alright, but remember about my cat."

They hiked back to the Tok'ra base, at a pace Harry could barely maintain. He'd been up to visit the Tok'ra camp several times since Charlie first invited him a few weeks earlier. They played cards and chess and once in a while Harry got to help him repair some of the Tok'ra's very interesting and glowy technology. Or rather he got to hold a flashlight or fetch tools while Paclan repaired Tok'ra technology. The way there had become familiar, but today it took on a dark and forbidding air. He couldn't shake the creeping feeling that he was being watched as he stepped out over the pit. As Solit hit the control button on the little watch-like device on her wrist, Harry wondered where in the caverns the Tok'ra kept their spaceships.

His answer arrived as the rings sank away, leaving them not in the normal crystal-lined check-in room, but instead in a triangular room with gold walls and slate floor, into which the rings dropped. Solit strode purposefully out of the room and Harry jogged after.

"Sit there," she said pointing at the copilot's chair. "Do not touch anything other than the chair and the floor. Do not move until we are underway."

Harry wanted to say something in defense of his maturity, but all complaints dropped away as he looked out the forward window.

"Wow."

It was insufficient, but all he could coherently say.

"I said stay in your seat," Solit said sharply, not looking up from the control panels.

Harry hadn't realized he was standing.

"This is the first time I've ever been on a spaceship," he said.

It was as close as he was willing to come to an apology.

"Unless you stop distracting me, it will also be the last."

Harry frowned and sat. The view before him suddenly changed. The endless night sky was replaced by a swirling circle of pastel colors into which the ship suddenly rushed. There was only the faintest hint of motion.

The next nine hours were not exactly exciting. Solit wasn't much of a conversationalist. She would answer direct questions in as few words as possible. Harry tried to sleep in the copilot's chair but it was definitely not designed for that. He got up and paced the ship, despite glares from Solit. The most exciting thing he did was figure out how the Go'auld designed W.C. worked. He went back to his chair and struggled to find a comfortable position to sleep in.

He had just managed to find a working doze position, with one leg thrown over the arm of the chair and his head resting on his arm, resting on the panel that separated the pilot and copilot seats, when an alarm went off. An incomprehensible display of lights came up on the inside of the windows, green dots and angry red graphs.

"Go into the cargo hold. There is a trunk containing the clothing worn by humans native to Ock'een. Put them on. Make certain you remove all personal items and items made by the Tauri," Solit ordered.

Harry returned a few minutes later in the itchiest clothing he had ever worn. And the itch seemed to concentrate itself in the spot right in the center of his back where it was almost impossible to reach. He supposed his agitated dancing finally inspired Solit to look up from the controls.

"Are you certain you have removed all Tauri made items?" she asked.

"Yes," Harry responded, walking past her towards his seat.

He couldn't suppress the startled yelp as Solit snapped the waistband of his boxers.

"The people of Ock'een have no such material," she said innocently.

Harry couldn't seem to find a comfortable way to sit in the chair anymore. He wondered how people got anything done before elastic was invented. He couldn't seem to stop worrying about his clothes falling off. He shot Solit an annoyed look every few minutes, but she didn't seem to care. It was another hour before the planet Ock'een came into view.

Harry couldn't keep the stupid smile off his face as they approached. Out in space it hadn't really felt like they were doing anything, but now that their objective was in view it actually felt as if they were flying. The planet expanded from a tiny point of light to a huge green and blue globe that filled the windows. They dropped through the atmosphere, bright burning light from friction with the air coming up around them. Harry didn't see any cities as they flew in low over the forest. He mentioned it to Solit.

"Most of the population lives within a few hundred miles of the gate. We have come in on the other side of the planet to avoid detection. After we land we will have to travel several miles on foot to reach the city of Tieholtsodi," she explained.

They landed and started off into the jungle. Solit seemed to know where she was going, and set a very uncomfortable pace. The Ock'een-style shoes she had gotten for Harry didn't fit very well and after about half an hour his feet were killing him. It was an hour more before they came across the first of the enemy Jaffa. A group of seven was marching along a dirt track. The lead Jaffa was wearing a helmet so large Harry was amazed the man wasn't tipping over. It was molded in the shape of a cobra's head and the eyes glowed with a disturbing red light. For a moment Harry was confused. He'd learned a little bit about the System Lords, the most powerful Go'auld in the galaxy, from the rebels. He thought the snake guards worked for Apophis, Teal'c's old boss.

"I thought Apophis was dead," he whispered to Solit as they crouched in the shrubbery, waiting for the patrol to pass.

"He is."

"So those aren't Apophis's Jaffa?"

"No. In recent years many System Lords have fallen in battle and the armor of their guards has had little value. I believe Tieholtsodi got several dozen serpent guard helms for a very small price."

"His guards are wearing used armor?"

"He is a bit of a joke to the more powerful Go'auld, which is probably why they allow him to live. He is also unusually skilled at adapting alien technology. At the moment he is under Ba'al's protection. He is one of the few weak links in Ba'al's communications system."

"If he is such a joke, why would Ba'al tell him anything important?"

"We are not concerned with what Ba'al says to Tieholtsodi. We are concerned with his subspace communications system."

"Oh. How much farther?"

"A few miles more."

_A "few" must have a very different meaning to the Tok'ra_, Harry grumbled to himself as the city finally came into sight. They'd walked for at least another three hours since passing the first patrol. The city looked only half finished. There were lots of mud and straw houses on the outlier and huge stone blocks lay about everywhere, though few buildings had actually been constructed. They apparently hadn't started work on the sewer system yet. Solit pulled him into one of the mud houses.

"This device must be attached to the bottom of a communication relay. Any relay inside the palace will do. They are large metal spheres, which hover several feet off the ground. You should be able to find one on your own, once you are inside," she explained hurriedly.

The override device looked an awful lot like a slice of processed American cheese. Harry put it in the pocket of his trousers. They stepped out of the little house and hurried further into the city.

"Just keep your head down. Avoid eye contact unless someone orders you directly to do otherwise. Do not speak to the other slaves. If a guard knocks you down, do not retaliate. You must act completely subservient while you are inside. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded mutely and looked at the ground. "How was that?" he asked a moment later.

"Don't speak, human!"

Harry stumbled as Solit hit him hard between the shoulder blades. He noticeda Jaffadownthe street was looking at them, and tried not to take it personally.

* * *

The Jaffa gave him a hard shove and he stumbled into the pen. The gate swung shut behind him and there was a loud sizzle as the fence reactivated. Harry turned slowly in a circle, taking it all in. There were maybe fifty people crowded in there. They all kept toward the center, showing clear respect for the fence. The faces that looked back at him were either disturbingly blank or disturbingly interested. No one spoke or nodded or gave any form of greeting.

Harry shuffled his feet a bit and something caught against the wooden sole of his shoes. He looked down. There was a thin net of wires under the dirt on the ground. Harry guessed it was probably so the guards could shock everyone in the holding pen if they got out of hand.

_Is it too late to change my mind?_ he thought as he sat down.

The morning wore on into scorching afternoon and there was no shade. His stomach was rumbling and his mouth was dry and sticky with thirst. He supposed everyone else was even worse off then he, as they had been in there longer. It was dusk when two harried-looking men arrived with a large bucket of water between them on a pole. The guards let them in. One by one the slaves lined up for a dipper full of the muddy, tepid liquid.

About an hour after sunset the guards came for them. They shouted something in another language. Everyone else in the pen got into a sort of haphazard line and put their hands on top of their heads. In single file they began to walk out, towards the half-finished palace. Harry looked about. There were at least ten prisoners for every guard. He was pondering whether or not he'd be able to outrun them when someone further up the line got the same idea.

He wasn't sure if the escapee was a man or a woman. The hunched figure, dressed in rags, shoved the woman in front of him towards the Jaffa guards and ran. He was cut down by half a dozen shots from assorted staff weapons. Harry grimaced. _Maybe I'll wait for Solit._

They passed through an ornately carved arch as they entered. Harry felt a strange buzzing, and guessed they'd just passed the Go'auld version of a metal detector. People were taking their hands off their heads so Harry followed suit. They were moving down a long hall and at the end of it Harry could see a large floating metal sphere that was most likely the subspace communication thingy Solit had described. He reached into his pocket and palmed the couldn't-really-be-a-cheese-slice. As he passed the floating globe has slapped the override-cheese slice onto the bottom. It seemed to melt into the surface of the sphere. He looked back, but the Jaffa guards hadn't noticed him.

_Mission accomplished, then. That wasn't so hard._

They turned a corner and passed into what could most accurately be described as a throne room. That was the only piece of furniture Harry could see, anyway. It stood at one end of the room, on a raised dais. On the other side there was a large gap in the floor, maybe fifteen feet across, running the width of the entire room, with a gilded railing around it. Harry wondered what was down there for all of three seconds before he heard the hissing. He supposed it made sense. If you had the serpent guard armor, you'd need the pit of snakes to go with it. The slaves were lined up in the center of the room with their backs to the pit.

"Kneel before Teiholtsodi, Serpent God of the Third Plane, Ruler of All Waters," ordered a Jaffa with a little gold mark on his forehead.

Harry couldn't see what it depicted, as his glasses were still buried three planets back, but he remembered that gold meant first prime rank. The humans all knelt as quickly as they could, and Harry heard more then a few stiff joints popping. Most of them proceeded to stare at the floor, but Harry's attention was drawn to the procession that was entering the room.

In the lead was a man with a pointed hat that appeared to be made out of snakeskin. Behind him were two burly Jaffa, carrying an ornately decorated glass aquarium between them. It looked like it was full of blue green eels. Then there was a woman in a turban, a gold bikini, and what, on Earth, Harry would have called a smoking jacket. He would never understand alien fashion, he supposed. She was carrying a bunch of smoking incense. And taking up the rear was a man so badly dressed he had to be Tieholtsodi. It looked as if he had decided to wear burgundy Venetian blinds with bits of gold foil glued on. He wasn't particularly tall, and his face was unremarkable, except for the glowing orange eyes, of course. He raised his hand and spoke in a booming voice.

"Today some of you shall be blessed beyond your capacity to understand. I, Tieholtsodi, your god, have brought you forth from nothing, and made you civilized. But greater glory is possible for those who have served me with the greatest dedication. This night, seven of you shall become children of the gods!"

When he finished he nodded to the bikini woman. She reached into the aquarium and pulled out one of the creatures, which Harry was wishing very hard would turn out to be eels, as he'd first thought. The creature gave a wheezing shriek and hissed unintelligibly as it writhed in the woman's hand.

"Choose!" Tieholtsodi said.

The woman held the Go'auld parasite high above her head, and stepped toward the line of slaves.

This to Harry did not look like constructions work, nor resale. He suspected Solit had been slightly less then honest with him.

_I think I'm starting to understand why nobody likes the Tok'ra._


	14. Serpents Part I

**Crumpets Aren't My Style**

**By Marz**

**Serpents**

**Part I**

She sat in back of the cargo ship, tools and relay systems strewn around her on the floor. Solit thought it was messy, but her host, Nina of the Copper Planes, did not particularly care. They'd lived as host and symbiote for nearly sixty years, but this was the first time they'd been at such odds. The argument going on in their shared mind was distracting, so much so that Solit almost failed to notice the override program activating. A tiny green light flickered on in a panel, halfway across the cargo hold. She pushed conflicting thoughts on the morality of sending that teenager off on such a mission to the back of her mind and gingerly crossed to the panel. She snatched up the bundle of bare wires hanging off the back of the panel and spliced them into the cargo ship's newly enhanced computer.

Data washed up on the screens that lay haphazardly around the bay. Some rested at angles against the walls, others lay flat on the floor. She'd been working on the communication tap for nearly seven hours, and it still wasn't quite ready. She thought it would take the boy longer to find an opportunity to upload the override. She grumbled to herself as she spliced a storage bank into the motley network of wires, panels, and crystals. There was a faint hum as the downloading began: data was snatched from Ba'al's network, decoded, and packed away for study.

Solit came up short as one of the screens on the floor displayed a sudden flicker of motion. She knelt down, staring into it. It was a live image from Tieholtsodi's palace. A procession, including the Go'auld himself was passing the curved surface of the subspace relay. They were choosing hosts already. Nina pushed her way forward.

_We have to tap that signal. We must know if the boy is alright._

_If he is or not we can do nothing about it, Solit said._

_We have to know._

Solit pushed her back down. She spliced in another control panel and began to search for the origin of the signal. Only the one relay was active, but she saw there were several others in the palace that she could bring online. It took several minutes of programming and transmitting, but she managed to bring all the other relays to life. Two were in hallways, one was in a dark room, the last was in the throne room. It was smaller than normal, and seemed to be part of the high back of the throne itself. She wondered if Tieholtsodi even knew it was there.

She brought up the live image and sound on the monitors before her. Neither Nina nor Solit were pleased with what they saw. A large group of human slaves were lined up on their knees before the throne. The priestess of Tieholtsodi was standing over a large and handsome human male, a writhing Go'auld in her outstretched hand. The human's hands were upraised plaintively.

"My Lord I beg you! I have a family! I must-"

The man didn't even get to finish his begging. With an almost absentminded wave Tieholtsodi activated the ribbon device on his right hand, and sent the man flying across the room. He cleared an ornate guardrail and tumbled into a wide pit that seemed to run the entire length of the room. Screams echoed through the throne room. Solit searched the image and finally located the boy. He knelt between two other ragged-looking slaves with a horrified expression on his face. Solit stared into his face. All he had to do was keep his head down and he would get through this. Her host was mentally urging the boy not to panic, but Solit looked into his eyes, and saw something much more dangerous than panic in them. She saw resolve.

"Would anyone else like to share his fate?" the Go'auld asked, as the screams faded away.

The boy stood up and raised his hand. Every eye in the room was on him.

Solit's mouth dropped open. She'd heard rumors that the boy was a bit strange for a Tauri, but this was completely unexpected. She'd seen no hint of suicidal behavior as they prepared for the mission. She begged silently that he was just going to say something flattering to Tieholtsodi, and then shut the hell up. But the boy stepped forward out of the line.

"I'd like to be thrown into the pit of snakes, please," he said, polite and calm.

The Go'auld raised his hand and in the next instant the boy was flying across the chamber. For a moment he was pinned to the wall above the pit, and then the force was gone. The boy fell.

* * *

He landed flat on his back. The snakes struck at him. Those he'd landed on struggled to get out from under and the rest darted at him with dripping fangs. One of them grazed his cheek, another's fangs caught in a fold of his shirt. He shook them off.

_"Don't! Don't! Don't!"_ Harry hissed.

He was praying very hard that the snakes on this world would speak the same kind of Parseltongue. The giving him the ability to speak with snakes was the one thing he was actually glad Voldemort had done to him. The snakes paused their attack, rocking back and forth as they watched him.

_"Give me some room alright?"_ he asked.

The snakes backed up, sliding over each other until Harry was squatting in a small circle of clear stone. Harry looked around. The man who had tried to beg his way out of this was still twitching a few feet away. Harry had thought Solit was leaving something out. Now he understood what. The people still alive up there weren't just going to be sold off somewhere else or made to work on temples. They were going to end up possessed by a parasite. They'd never be free. They'd go around killing and enslaving others. And Solit hadn't done anything. Harry looked up at the edge of the pit, ten feet above him. Here was that "saving people thing" getting him into trouble again. So now what? He knew he had probably gained himself minutes at most. The Go'auld would finish boasting and drag out the parasites and the people above would submit or die. But what could he do? His magic wasn't reliable enough to stun all the bad guys and deflect everything that was shot at him and protect the humans if they ran.

"Kneel before your god!" Tieholtsodi's voice demanded from overhead.

_The Jaffa only follow him because they think he's a god, right? Because he has powers they can't explain. What can I do to show them…_

Harry's mind was whirling. The plan was half-baked and would call upon recruiting and acting skills he didn't know if he possessed, but it was the best he had. He looked back at the circle of snakes. They were mostly cobras, though a few pythons were mixed in.

_"Can you understand me?"_

_"Yes," _they replied.

"_You want to get out of this pit, right?"_

_"Yes. It is cold. We are hungry. The sun is lost to us."_

_"Of course. That's all very bad. If you can play along for a few minutes we can all get out of here. Can all of you do that?"_

_"What must we do?"_

* * *

Solit tried to adjust the view of the throne room, but the communication sphere was at the wrong angle. The boy hadn't screamed once. His neck may have been broken in the fall. Tieholtsodi had ordered his priestess to continue. Nina gave an internal wail of despair, and Solit was unable to calm her.

_The program has been uploaded. The mission was a success_. _We can hardly be blamed for the boy's actions. He was out of his mind_.

_Perhaps that was why Bre'tac wouldn't give us permission to ask him in the first place,_ her host thought.

Their attention was drawn to the screen again as Tieholtsodi's priestess paced before the line of slaves searching for a host for the symbiote. It hissed and snapped its mouthparts as it shook off the last of the suspension liquid from the tank. The priestess stopped and held it out towards a short, fair-haired woman.

The woman screamed. She staggered to her feet. Two Jaffa seized her arms to keep her from fleeing. Tieholtsodi opened his mouth to speak, but froze before a single word could escape. Very slowly he looked down. A cobra had wound its way around his boot. His Jaffa guards started toward him but froze as well. The dark stone floor was crawling with snakes. They slithered around the sides of the room, moving with a stealth that seemed far beyond their capacity. As one, Jaffa, human slaves, and Go'auld turned toward the pit.

Snakes were spilling up over the edge, slithering between the bars of the railing and out onto the floor. They circled wide around the line of slaves, moving toward the Jaffa guards with great intention. They were all a bit shocked by the cobra's suddenly discovered ability to climb, but the next thing out of the pit really gave them a turn.

The boy's dark hair and pale face appeared over the edge and continued to rise. A moment later the rest of him was visible. He had a cobra wrapped around his shoulders and another had twisted itself several times around his right arm. He was standing calmly in the empty air. Solit saw no machines or wires that could explain it. What the boy was doing was simply not possible.

"I've had a chance to confer with my subjects," the boy said. "They're of the opinion that you are not a competent master of this place, and I am rather upset that you're using my name and likeness in such an unpleasant context."

"What?" Tieholtsodi demanded in a booming voice. His eyes flashed.

The cobra on the boy's shoulder straightened up suddenly and hissed at the Go'auld and every other snake in the room did the same. The Jaffa looked at each other with the faintest hint of nervousness.

"Well, as it happens, I am Tieholtsodi, Serpent god of the third plane and you are doing awful things to my reputation. I mean, look at that thing in her hands," the floating boy said. "That isn't even a real serpent. Since I had to come all the way from Earth to deal with this, I'd appreciate it if you would relinquish your rather unworthy claim to my domain, and leave this temple immediately."

"Jaffa!" Tieholtsodi roared.

The Jaffa pointed their staff weapons at the boy who was still floating benignly above the pit. The boy cocked his head to the side, and then hissed. The humans in the room shuddered, somehow managing to look even more frightened then they had with symbiotes being waved under their noses. The cobras on the floor reared up and circled the Jaffa. The boy hissed again and the snakes hissed in response. The Jaffa looked to the First prime.

"Firing those in here is not a very good idea," the boy said in a human voice once more. "My subjects are rather upset with all of you at the moment. One cobra bite isn't enough to kill a fully mature Jaffa and symbiote, but I'm sure you can all count. The numbers are in our favor. Your master is already in trouble for infringing on my name, but I've no particular grievance with any of you."

"Kill him!" ordered Tieholtsodi. "He is not your god! I am! This is a trick! Kill him!"

The boy hissed and the cobras encircling Tieholtsodi struck. The Go'auld winced.

"Kill him!" Teiholtsodi shrieked, terror clear in his voice.

He kicked at the snakes, but they continued to strike.

"I am your god! Obey me!"

The Jaffa stood undecided, one moment looking at the Go'auld they served and the next looking toward the boy in the air. Tieholtsodi activated his ribbon device, knocking cobras away from him, but for every one he knocked away, twice as many would slither forward in their place. He raised his personal shield but it did little to protect him from the animals already wrapped around his boots. The Jaffa were still motionless as their former god fell, foaming at the mouth. The priestess shrieked and the symbiote fell from her hand. The creature lunged toward the humans but a cobra struck it mid-leap. For a moment the writhing forms struggled, then the symbiote went still.

The boy came down then. He floated slowly towards the floor and his feet settled down gently in between the still-agitated snakes. The snake that had hung on his arm crawled down to the ground, but the one on his shoulder stayed where it was, hissing in his ear. The boy walked past the Jaffa. They turned and pointed their staff weapons at him, but he didn't seem to care. The snakes all swarmed after the boy, surrounding him except for the path he walked. He came to a stop before Tieholtsodi's priestess and the tank of Go'auld. The woman stood for a moment, looking from the dead Go'auld she had served to the boy in slave's clothing and the serpents that surrounded him. She dropped to her knees.

"Forgive me! I did not know he was a false god," she cried dramatically.

The boy did not answer her. He pointed at the tank with his empty right hand. It burst. Symbiotes spilled out, shrieking and hissing across the floor. Some tried to crawl towards the humans still lined up in the middle of the room. The cobras intercepted them long before they got there.

Solit knew her mouth was hanging open. She tried to form words. The scene in the throne room continued to unfold. The boy hissed loudly and all in the room besides the serpents cringed. Though she was miles away in sealed cargo ship, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. The cobras rose up and opened their hoods, hissing back. All the humans and Jaffa sank to their knees.

The cobra on the boy's shoulders unwound itself and slithered to the floor. It moved toward the door of the throne room and all the other serpents followed after it. As the snakes moved out the boy ran his hands through his hair and surveyed the room. He seemed more then a little confused.

"My…my lord?" said the human woman who had only just avoided becoming a host.

The boy turned and looked at her.

"Excuse me?" he said.

"We are grateful…my lord for…for your intervention. How may we serve you?"

The boy looked even more confused if that were possible. He looked around the room and ran his hand through his hair again.

"Oh…er…alright. Everybody up! Back on your feet! None of that now!" the boy said. He went around pulling all the humans and Jaffa upright again. "Now I think there has been some kind of misunderstanding here. I'm Tieholtsodi, _Serpent_ god of the third plane. If you've got legs you don't really fall under my jurisdiction."

The humans and Jaffa looked even more confused than the boy had a minute earlier. A few of the humans tried to kneel again.

"No, really. I'm serious," the boy said. "I mean, you're all perfectly intelligent people right? You don't need someone telling you what to do and throwing you in a pit of snakes if you don't, right?"

Carefully, the humans in the room shook their heads.

"So then, why don't you go home, and farm or something?"

"You want nothing from us?" the fair-haired woman asked again.

"Well, try not to start fights with the snakes," the boy said. "Because I told them to stay clear of all of you, so really there shouldn't be a problem. And snakes are very good for the ecosystem. They keep the rodent population down, you know?"

The humans were nodding and backing away towards the door. The boy waved at them and they turned and ran. The Jaffa of Tieholtsodi and the priestess stood watching him. The boy looked very small compared to them. The first prime stepped forward.

"You are not Go'auld," he said, almost accusingly.

The boy shrugged. "What does that have to do with anything?"

The first prime frowned. "The Go'auld are gods."

"Since when?"

The first Prime looked flummoxed. "Since time began."

"Well that's entirely untrue," the boy said.

He'd begun fiddling with the loose threads on the ends of his sleeves.

"Then what is true?" the first prime asked.

The boy shrugged. "I'm not exactly the expert on Jaffa truth. Snakes are my business, remember?"

"But what of us?"

"Well," the boy said. "I've got this friend you could talk to about that…"

* * *

"And you _accidentally_ overthrew Tieholtsodi?"

Harry shrugged. Bre'tac and the other leaders of the Rebel camp all stood watching him, and he couldn't help but fidget. McGonagall sat by the old Jaffa's feet, giving Harry an equally disapproving glare. Solit had flown over the camp in the cargo ship and dropped him into it using the rings. They hadn't parted on good terms and it seemed everyone was now mad at him. His explanation of his actions wasn't apparently helping him, either.

"Well the Tok'ra didn't entirely explain what was going to happen. That is to say…they left some things out that I think were rather important, so I thought…I thought it would be wrong not to try something."

"And you simply convinced them that Tieholtsodi was not a god?" asked Bre'tac.

"Pretty much," Harry answered.

"So we should take the messages sent to us by his former first prime seriously?" Ishtar asked.

"Yet'ar called already?" Harry asked.

He and Solit had only left Ock'een that morning. He had expected the Jaffa to mull over his suggestion they join the rebellion a little more than that. Of course, that was almost twelve hours ago. His mind was drifting back to the long awkward flight with the Tok'ra woman when Bre'tac's staring recalled his attention.

"They seemed sincere," Harry said, actually answering the question.

Bre'tac didn't exactly sigh, but his expression did indicate some sort of frustrated resignation. "You may return to training. Do not speak with the Tok'ra without receiving permission from me first."

Harry bowed and walked away. He could feel many eyes on the back of his head. That sensation was wiped away by the feeling of claws on the back of his head.

"Yow!" he stumbled and shrugged trying to get McGonagall to let go.

She bit him on the ear, and then dropped back to the ground.

"I cannot believe you would- No! No, I believe you would! I entirely believe that you would! When will you learn?" the cat raved. "You say you can't bear these situations on Earth, but you go charging into them here! What is wrong with you?"

"You bit my ear!" Harry said.

"I'll do worse then that if you try anything so foolish again. I am doing my best to keep you alive despite the situation you have put me in, and all you do is try to throw it away! You throw everything away!"

"I do not!"

She clawed his ankle. "I can't even look at you right now!" she hissed.

He started to speak again but she drowned him out with an enraged yowl, before stalking off into the jungle. His shoulders sank. No matter what he did, it would never be good enough.

In England all he ever did was get people hurt and killed. He thought he'd actually done some good on Ock'een. He'd helped those people at the temple. He'd convinced those Jaffa that the Go'auld were not gods. Now Bre'tac was chewing him out and McGonagall was chewing him up and Solit said he had ruined the Tok'ra's chances of tapping into Ba'al's communication systems. With Tieholtsodi gone, the whole system would be scrapped and reprogrammed. The override was no good. And he couldn't even go and complain to Charlie, because he was banned from the Tok'ra camp.

He slumped down on the sleeping bag in his tent. McGonagall had been scratching it up and the stuffing was poking out of numerous holes. Not for the first time he hung his head and wished he was home, even if it meant catching fire and going up like an un-watered Christmas tree.


	15. Serpents Part II

**Author's note:** Sorry about the long wait people. I have way too much homework. I hope you enjoy the chapter. Another one will be up soon, and the return to Earth and the SGC is not far off. Remember; reviews are way cool.

**Crumpets Aren't My Style**

**By Marz**

**Serpents**

**Part II**

Harry hunched down even further, and wished strongly that the rebel Jaffa had embraced the Tauri custom of wearing deodorant. The hold of the cargo ship was so packed that not everyone could sit down at the same time, unless they were in someone else's lap. And the rebels weren't really that sort. The life support systems were working at maximum to keep the oxygen levels up and the CO2 down. Apparently it didn't have time to worry about the old sweat sock smell that was getting stronger by the moment.

The majority of the Jaffa packed into the cargo hold were in a kind of meditative trance that slowed their metabolism and reduced their need for air. The cargo ship shuddered as it worked its way out of the atmosphere and the meditating warriors didn't seem too concerned about who they were tipping onto. Harry winced as a woman, at least a foot taller then him, was jostled against his injured hand.

It had been more then an hour since Professor McGonagall bit him, and it still stung horribly. He scooted a little further away from the woman and loosened the strip of tee-shirt he'd tied around the injury. The crescent shaped chunk missing from the palm was still oozing. She'd been biting and clawing him much more often lately, usually whenever he returned from a mission with the rebels, but not usually hard enough to draw blood. When he volunteered for this one, right in front of her, she'd been in an incoherent rage. She didn't even speak. Harry was pretty sure it was a sign she was going off the deep end. He'd have to send her back to Earth with the next SG team they ran into, whether she wanted to go or not.

The woman tipped even further and Harry stood up. He didn't really have anywhere to go too, but he started squeezing past and stepping over people, searching for a less cramped space to occupy. He finally settled on a six foot high stack of crates, containing the weapons they were going to use on the mission. He climbed to the top of the stack. He had to sit cross legged and a little hunched, but at least nobody was falling on him. He was surprised to see Ro'dan a moment later at the bottom of the stack. Harry reached down an arm and helped him up.

"So you aren't doing that whole meditating thing?" Harry asked.

Ro'dan shook his head. "I am not yet skilled enough in kel-nori-eem to slow my respiration."

"Oh."

"Do you think we will be in combat on this mission?" Ro'dan asked, sounding very hopeful.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. We'll probably just be lookouts again. We're not supposed to be anywhere near the major battles anyway."

Ro'dan looked as if Christmas had been canceled and replaced with clean-out-the-septic-tank day. He and Harry had only been on two other missions with the rebels in enemy territory, and both times they were lookouts. Harry thought this was a bit strange as he still didn't have any glasses and anything more then three feet away from his face was rather indistinct. He'd brought this up with Joe'mec and Bre'tac, but neither seemed overly concerned. They'd both said something along the lines of "a warrior fights with his heart not his eyes." Harry was pretty sure they had missed the point. To be on the safe side he intended to use a zat instead of a staff weapon.

The only reason the younger warriors were crammed in the hold of the cargo ship, with nearly fifty adult Jaffa, was because most everyone else from the rebel camp was out searching for a new rebel camp. The Tok'ra had abandoned the planet a week earlier and the Jaffa were getting nervous, as nervous as Jaffa ever got anyway. Even Bre'tac had been away when Wiet'c of the Ashen Sea had come through the gate. She'd been in the service of the Goa'uld Morrigan and some old friends of hers had told her of the battle about to take place on the planet Nortus in Morrigan's territory. Morrigan and Ba'al had been arguing over ownership of that world for nearly a thousand years, and had finally come to the conclusion that they had to send in some Jaffa to kill each other over it. Wiet'c said the shapa'i on Nortus was now heavily guarded by Morrigan's troops, so Ba'al was landing his Jaffa in ships. She had come to the conclusion that while the two armies were engaged, it would be a very good time for the rebels to steal everything they could carry.

"So how long will it take us to get there?" Harry asked.

"Joe'mec estimated about sixteen hours," Ro'dan answered.

* * *

They crawled along on their bellies. Harry had the radio strapped tightly to his back. Ro'dan had the binoculars. They each had a zat and a staff weapon. Harry thought it was more trouble then it was worth to drag the staff up the cliff, but he didn't say anything. The Rebels used guns and rocket launchers made in the United States and provided by the Air Force, but they were in no hurry to give up the staffs that had been given to them by the Goa'uld thousands of years ago. Ro'dan got to the edge of the cliff first.

"Morrigan's Jaffa are retreating across the plane towards that city. It won't buy them much time. They would have been better off staying in the mountains, where there was cover," Ro'dan said and then looked back to Harry as if waiting for him to agree or argue with his statement on battle strategy.

Harry shrugged and crawled forward. He held out his hand and accepted the binoculars. After much adjusting he could actually see what was happening. He rather wished he couldn't.

Morrigan's Jaffa were retreating across the plane that opened up at the base of the cliffs on which Harry and Ro'dan perched. Harry didn't think many of them would make it to the city on the other side. It was at least two miles away and Ba'al's Jaffa were tearing up their backs with burning orange light. He caught a hint of movement among the distant clouds. Harry adjusted the binoculars again.

"Death Gliders," he said, pointing.

He handed the binoculars to Ro'dan, who tried to look through them, gave Harry a baneful glance and then began adjusting them again. Harry gave him a "I can't help it if I'm blind" look and took out the radio. He relayed the position of the gliders to Gal'me who was guarding the cargo ship they arrived in. She confirmed and told them to keep watching. Ro'dan said something that Harry didn't catch, but as he turned his head towards him, he saw the explosions very clearly. The Death Gliders had opened fire.

"They're strafing the city," Ro'dan said.

"But Morrigan's Jaffa aren't even there yet," Harry said, taking the binoculars back.

"Ba'al may have simply ordered it destroyed."

"Why?"

"Morrigan made the humans of this world name the city after her. It could be for that reason."

"But it's full of civilians," Harry muttered, adjusting the lenses.

"That means humans who do not fight, does it not?" Ro'dan asked.

Harry nodded, half listening. He saw the outside wall of the city had collapsed and people were spilling out from buildings like startled mice, running in all directions looking for somewhere better to hide. The Death Gliders made another pass, and more buildings fell. The wooden ones burned. The structures made of clay bricks just sort of burst. There was a person on fire running down the middle of a street. He tripped over a tilted paving stone and fell. The gliders came around again.

There were only six of them. From what they'd seen, as the cargo ship circled Nortus before landing, a great many Death Gliders were fighting far above the planet. Morrigan was clearly losing but didn't seem any more willing to surrender because of it. Harry didn't think any of her fighters were going to come and get rid of these guys. Ba'al's gliders strafed the city again.

"There has to be something we can do to stop this," Harry said.

"That's not why we are here," Ro'dan reminded him.

"But all those people- I mean they've got nothing to do with this and…and they're being slaughtered."

"We have not even managed to steal a cargo ship yet, and we can not risk the one we came in," Ro'dan replied, being annoyingly logical. "That ship would not be a match for six Death Gliders anyway. This is not a battle that can be won."

"Doesn't mean it shouldn't be fought," Harry said, half to himself.

* * *

Ro'dan saw the look on the Tauri's face and started to get worried. He had a lot of respect for the human boy though he could, on occasion, be very slow. He'd seen HarryPotter make some very impressive shots with a staff weapon, despite his claims of blindness, and didn't doubt the human would be able to hit the power cells on one of the Death Gliders, as it passed over head. He was certain his companion could take out one of them that way. But if he did the other five would not be caught the same way, and could easily destroy them from a distance. He thought perhaps he could remove temptation, and held out his hand for the binoculars to be returned. Harry passed them back without looking at him.

"When the Goa'uld have been defeated and exposed for the false gods that they are, these kinds of atrocities will not occur," Ro'dan said.

Thinking about a future in which the Goa'uld had no power over them always made him feel better. Then the Jaffa could do battle when they wanted. He wasn't certain who they would fight once the Goa'uld were gone, but he was fairly certain something would come up. He turned to ask Harry what the Tauri did when they weren't fighting. The first thing he noticed was the radio, lying next to him. Next he noticed Harry was gone.

* * *

As he ran through the waist high grass, Harry started to wonder whether this was one of his better ideas. He heard a glider turning his way and ducked down. It passed over, and did not fire. He got up and continued to run. He supposed they were saving there ammunition for the city. Harry focused on the outline of the burning city before him. He refused to look back at the cliffs. He could feel Ro'dan's eyes burning into the back of his head from where he lay perched, still doing his duty as lookout.

_I'm really not cut out for this solider business_ he thought to himself. He could smell the smoke from the city. The grassland around it was catching as well, but the wind was blowing away from him._ It would be appropriately stupid for me to die that way though; Boy-who-live heroically runs into grass fire._ It seemed to take forever to get across the plane, but Harry knew even with his constant ducking to avoid drawing the gliders attention it had taken him no more then ten minutes. All that training with the Rebel Jaffa had gotten him in shape at least, though obviously he still hadn't learned to follow orders. He scrambled up over the rubble of the fallen walls and into the city. _What the heck am I going to do now?_

The answer seemed to present itself as he heard a woman wailing. He jogged down the cobble street and saw a woman and a little boy trying to dig an elderly man out of a pile of rubble. The old man was struggling weakly, but they weren't making too much progress. They didn't pay him much attention when Harry joined the excavation, but as he jammed the end of his staff weapon under a large chunk of stone and used it as a lever, he got an odd look from the woman. She didn't scream or try to hit him though, so she'd probably correctly assumed that he wasn't one of the invading Jaffa. The old man finally crawled free. His legs were a mess though, the compound fracture in the left one was hideously apparent. Harry got under one arm and the woman got under the other. They hurried up the street, Harry following the woman's lead. At least half the buildings they passed were in flames. She started to drag them into one of the few that wasn't.

"No!" Harry said.

"The demons in the air will return! We must hide!" she shrieked, looking upwards.

"They're here to destroy the city! No where in the city is a good place to hide. You have to get out."

"But it's wilderness for fifty miles in every direction! There's no shelter! The Jaffa of the evil god Ba'al are invading!"

"The Jaffa of Ba'al are coming here! Your only chance is in the wilderness."

"We won't survive," she said.

"You've got a better chance out there then in this building!"

She finally nodded and let Harry take the lead, which was not such a brilliant idea since he had no knowledge of the lay of the city, but he did seem to be having a lot of good luck. They found a wheelbarrow and put the old man in it. A few other disoriented people joined their odd little procession, and a pregnant woman was crammed into the wheelbarrow as well. Harry thought the fact that he was armed was what made they want join up, since he was otherwise not a commanding presence. He'd seen a river flowing past the far side of the city from the cliff top. He figured it was a good a direction to send these people as any, since they would have water at least. More and more people darted out of dark crumbling houses to join the exodus, and Harry knew it was making them more and more of a target. A Death Glider passed close over head but its shots were too wide and struck the row of buildings across the street instead of the refugees. It started to circle around for another pass.

He didn't think he'd be able to knock the ship out of the air with any of his still not quite under control magic, but he was sure he had enough for this. He planted his feet wide in the street and faced the glider. The people around him started to run. He worried they'd trample each other, but he had to push those thoughts aside as he focused.

"Accio Smoke!"

The thorn in his right hand twitched as smoke from the burning city came towards him, in complete contradiction to the wind and gravity. He held his breath as it came down around him blotting out the glider and the sky and searing his skin. Here was where the plan got tricky. He knew how to summon things towards himself or to banish them away, but he'd never tried summoning something to a foreign object, much less one that was moving. Well Hermione was always encouraging him to try new things with magic.

"Death Glider Accio Smoke!"

He didn't know if his bad Latin grammar would get him in trouble, but the smoke blew up and away from him, toward the flying craft he could only envision in him mind. He blinked and rubbed at his watering eyes. The smoke had formed a dense cloud with the Death Glider at its core. The ship had stopped firing and was gaining altitude, probably trying to get above it. If Harry had done what he meant to though, that wouldn't happen. The refugees had stopped to watch the Death Glider and now they watched him approach with suspicion.

"There are five more of them still up there!" Harry shouted to get them going again.

Harry saw a few of Morrigan's Jaffa running through the streets, but none of them tried to join the refugees, who numbered almost fifty at that point. The group was slowing down as more people came together. Harry didn't think they'd make it unless he took out a few more of the gliders, or at least drew their attention to another part of the city. He noticed a man who'd had the foresight bring a blanket and a water skin with him, and figuring he was the most clear headed in the group, left him in charge with instructions to get the hell away from the city until the battle was over.

Harry ran back towards the cliff ward side of the city, which was the most heavily damaged at that moment. It seemed as if the gliders had taken up a grid flight pattern over the area, to destroy the city more efficiently, Harry guessed. Harry crawled up the side of a half collapsed building to get a better view. Five gliders were still criss-crossing and blasting away, creating plenty of smoke. Harry used his wavering magic to give them each their own personal dark cloud. All five of the gliders climbed steeply, until Harry couldn't see them anymore. He thought they might have left the atmosphere even. He looked toward the cliffs again and frowned. Ba'al's Jaffa were gathering at the edge of the plane. Despite his currently poor eyesight he could make out the hundreds of shiny suits of armor. Harry climbed down from the crumbling building and ran toward the refugees that were heading for the river. They could probably use a heads up about the approaching army.

_At least now that his troops are moving in, he won't be bombarding the city anymore_.

Harry really hated how he was so consistently wrong.

He had just reached the group, which was now at least three hundred strong and moving at the pace of an unusually lazy snail, when he heard the whine of Death Gliders cutting through the air. He turned. The people started running, but the streets were too narrow and there were too many of them to get out of the way. There were three Death Gliders. Harry could make them out clearly. He held up his hand. They fired.

"PROTEGO!"

The thorn lodged in his hand was going ballistic and he was sure it was seconds away from tearing right out of his skin. He felt the impact of the energy blasts against the deflection barrier he'd thrown up. He winced as they struck. The sensation threw him off balance and he ended up on his backside. He scrambled up again, looking around for the Death Gliders. He could already feel the spell fading. He could only see one glider then and it was some distance off. One of its wings was smoking. Harry took a few steps. The street seemed to tilt upward and he stumbled. A large man in a leather apron, who Harry hoped was the city butcher, caught him around the middle and set him upright. Somebody else pushed his staff weapon into his left hand. He hadn't realized he'd dropped it.

"You destroyed two of the sky demons," the butcher hissed in his ear as if it were some big secret. "You sent their fire back at them!"

"Don't know if I can get any more of them," Harry said. "Keep running. There are Jaffa coming too."

Ten minutes later they were at the river bed. The river had seemed bigger from farther off. A lot of people had gotten the same idea that Harry had and were following the course of the water out across the plane. There were several thousand at least, trudging along the muddy banks, with nowhere left to go.

* * *

"My Lord Ba'al!"

The Goa'uld turned slowly in his throne like chair and raised an eyebrow at his first prime, Lore'ek. The Jaffa had come in without announcing himself properly, but the battle was going in his favor, as were most other things these days. He decided not to execute him outright.

"Speak."

"My Lord, in the city of Morrigan-"

"It has not yet been destroyed?"

"No, my Lord. There is some sort of weapon in the city. It has destroyed two Death Gliders and disabled seven others."

"And where in the city is this weapon located?"

"It seems to be mobile my Lord," Lore'ek said. "Should we attempt to capture the weapon or shall we destroy the city with fire from above?"

Ba'al looked at the monitors again. He had been watching all aspects of the battle, maps of the planet showed almost every city was now under his control or destroyed, and the losses were minimal; only eighteen thousand of his Jaffa dead. Morrigan's fleet was in ruins. Her command ship alone was still functional, and it was slowly drawing away from the planet. He supposed there was no great risk in having them seize the city.

"The weapon will be mine."

Loke'ek bowed and backed out of the room. Ba'al went back to watching the destruction on the monitors.

* * *

"They are moving away from the cargo ships," Wiet'c voice buzzed in her radio.

"In which direction?" asked Gal'me, slightly irritated.

She had been coordinating with the others for the last hour, having them scout different approaches to the landing area, but there were too many of Ba'al's Jaffa guarding the landing craft for their small strike teams to sneak in and steal them unnoticed, and far too many to battle. It was starting to look as if they would return to the camp empty handed, not to mention without the fool Tauri boy, who Ro'dan reported had run off to the City of Morrigan to try to help the humans evacuate before it was destroyed.

"They are moving up the road into the mountains," Weit'c said. "It seems to be the bulk of their forces."

The radio beeped, indicating a call on another channel. Gal'me looked at the little Tauri made box in continued amazement and turned the dial at the top.

"This is Ro'dan. Ba'al's Jaffa are moving toward the city. More death gliders are moving over the city as well. Someone in the city is shooting them down. It is not staff weapons fire."

Over the next half hour all the scouts and look outs reported in. The Jaffa guarding the cargo ships and those patrolling the surrounding area were all being sent to the City of Morrigan. One scout had been close enough to the enemy soldiers to overhear their orders. They were being sent to the city to seize the weapon that had destroyed the Death Gliders. Ro'dan was reporting at least twelve hundred Jaffa were moving into the city at that very moment. It seemed unlikely that HarryPotter would find his way back to them.

* * *

Things were not going quite as well as he'd hoped. Harry peeked over the edge of the crumbling wall behind which he crouched. He couldn't see any Jaffa coming up the alley. He put his head down and tried to stop it from spinning. He'd used Protego to deflect shots from the Death Gliders away from the column of people fleeing the city, and the enemy fighters had most definitely realized he was the one doing it. He'd run deeper into the city and they had flown after him. He could hear them circling still, which on the good side meant they weren't bombing the cities former occupants, but on the bad side meant he'd never be able to run back across the plane to the cliffs, where his only chance for a ride home was hidden.

The inside of his right arm felt as if it were burning. The skin of his palm looked scalded and the thorn he'd been stuck with on that alien world seemed to have grown larger. It had allowed him to focus his magic, but it seemed to be feeding off it as well. He didn't think he had much left to give it.

There was a scuffling of feet at the mouth of the alley and Harry stood preparing to run. For a second his vision went dark and he sank back down. He brought his hand up to his head. It seemed to weight a hundred pounds. The foot steps came closer. He picked up his staff weapon. It charged more quietly then the zat anyway. They came closer still and Harry suppressed a miserable groan as he heard another distinct set of feet enter the alley as well, and then another. He crept further back into the half collapsed building, in which he was hiding.

* * *

"Jaffa Cree!"

Gar't was starting to think his orders were foolish. He did not doubt he and his comrades would be executed for failing to carry them out, but they seemed foolish all the same. The glider pilots had reported a dark haired human boy was firing some sort of weapon at them. They'd caught many humans trying to hide in the city so far, but none had known anything about a weapon.

Gar't had seen the trail of foot prints leading into the alley. They were small but the prints seemed to be made by Tauri boots rather then the native human's leather shoes. If there were Tauri in the city it could mean any number of things, but it was unlikely they would bring a boy with them. The prints lead into a crumbling building. He charged his staff weapon and stepped inside.

There were a dozen fist sized holes in the roof of the building, but the inside was unnaturally dark and cold. Gar't's night vision was nearly perfect, but in this room he could barely see the charged end of his staff weapon. He heard Tegen't stepping into the room behind hind him.

He strained his ears for the sounds of breathing and thought he heard a whispered word.

"Who-"

Gar't's question was cut off as hundreds of slimy flapping things struck him in the face. He stumbled backwards into Tegan't and they both fell sprawling to the floor. Two more Jaffa came running into the room, blocking the entrance and cutting off nearly all of the outside light. Gar't was still clawing at the things on his face, when he saw the boy. He stepped forward out of the shadows in the corner of the room, a zat-nicka-tal in one hand and a staff weapon in the other. The room was filled with flashing lights.

Gar't rolled aside just in time to avoid being shot with the staff. The boy had managed to get everyone else in that first instant though. The boy sprinted past him out into the alley. He heard more shots exchanged and surprised shouts. He crawled to his feet. The things clinging to his face faded away, as if they had never been anything but unusually thick smoke. He peered into the alley. The boy was the only one still on his feet. Six other Jaffa lay on the ground unmoving. They were unmarked, so Gar't assumed they'd been hit with zat blasts. The boy had been hit in the leg and was using his staff weapon as a crutch. The Jaffa activated his zat. The boy must have heard him, for he started to turn, bringing up his empty right hand. Gar't fired.

The indigo light flashed across the alley, but never reached its target. In the air, a few inches away from the boy's empty hand, the light stopped. It flickered and spun around the boy's out stretched arm like tame lightening before winking out of existence. The boy pulled his arm against his chest as if it pained him. He leaned against the wall with his staff weapon pointed at Gar't. Using the wall for support he continued to back away. He failed to notice one of the Jaffa he'd shot waking up a few feet behind him.

The boy let out a strange little yelp as the blast from the zat hit him in the back. He fell forward on his knees. Gar't saw him reaching for the staff weapon that had fallen at his side, and added his own blast of indigo light.

* * *

"This can't be good," Harry tried to say to himself.

It came out as a sort of gurgle. His mouth hadn't moved at all. He blinked. At least that was still working properly. His mouth felt dry. He tried and failed to swallow. He knew his body was still there. Everything that wasn't actively hurting was numb, but he could feel the stinging burn on his leg, the pulled muscles in his back, and the two horrible stabbing pains in the back of his neck and head. He thought perhaps that was where the zat shots had hit him, but there was no localized pain the last time he'd been hit with them. Zat shots didn't really explain why he couldn't move either.

He had no idea where he was, but at least knew where he wasn't. He was most definitely not in the city any longer. The floors were smooth. The only light in the room came from a row of glowing panels set low along the wall. His face was turned towards them and the glare made the rest of the room appear pitch black. This new and high tech location also meant he'd been captured of course. He tired to sigh and got nothing. _Captured by the Goa'uld, it couldn't be that much worse then being captured by Voldemort right? _He tried to frown. _I've just jinxed myself haven't I?_

It was another hour before they came for him. Two Jaffa with little pointy symbols tattooed in the centers of their foreheads came into the room and grabbed him under the arms. His lolled forward so he had a good view of the floor and his dragging feet as he was carried along. The pointy symbol was Ba'al's, not Morrigan's. So that meant he was on one of Ba'al's ships, which meant in turn, that he was completely screwed. He tried to focus his magic enough to trip up the guards. Nothing happened. He didn't know if it was because he'd burned himself out fighting in the city or if it had something to do with his paralysis.

The guards stopped for a moment and a door opened. He was carried across a slightly different floor. This one had gray tiles instead of uniform black of the corridors outside. They dropped him. His chin hit the floor and his teeth clicked together. He heard a groaning creak as something large and metal was forced to bend in a direction it did not want to go. The guards rolled him over and picked him up by the arms again. One of them was completely blank faces. The other was carefully not looking Harry in the face. _This can't be good_.

They pulled off his jacket and dropped it on the floor. His head rolled uncontrolled on his shoulders and for a moment he saw the frame. It looked like a giant cast iron gingerbread man, with wire cages on the ends of the arms. He only saw it for a second before he was pushed against it. His arms were shoved into the wire and they suddenly constricted, pinning him. They put straps around his feet and chest to hold him more firmly in place. His head wasn't at all supported by this, so he spent the ordeal looking at his own feet. He could see the jacket too and his stomach jumped. The outside of the jacket had no markings on it that would indicate he'd gotten it at the Alpha site, but the tag in the collar with the washing instructions had USAF stamped on it in traitorous red letters.

The guards stepped away, but they were still in the room somewhere. Harry tried again to summon up some hint of magic, but nothing came. Boots clicked sharply against the tiles as a new somebody entered the room. Harry felt eyes on him, but couldn't raise his head to return the stare. More boots clicked as others came in.

"This is all you found?" asked a resonating Goa'uld voice.

"Yes my Lord."

The Goa'uld snorted with obvious contempt.

"Our search of the immediate area turned up nothing. He must have disposed of the weapons he was using before he was captured."

"And what information did you get from this…boy before you brought him here?"

"N-nothing my Lord. He was unconscious. He was struck twice with shots from the zat-nicka-tal. We could not wake him."

"You are certain you hit him twice," the Goa'uld said.

It sounded more like a statement then a question to Harry.

"Yes my Lord," the other voice answered, sounding more nervous by the moment.

Harry heard clicking boot heals again and a bit of shiny black cloth entered his field of vision by his feet. He heard little tapping sounds as if someone was typing on a key board.

BEEP!

The stabbing pains in the back of his neck and head increased a thousand fold. He let out a gargling shout. The pain faded slowly and Harry realized he could move again. He pulled against the straps holding him to the frame, but there wasn't even a millimeter of slack in them. Slowly he raised his head.

Pitiless dark eyes watched him. The Goa'uld's face was pale, with high cheek bones and an aloof expression. He had a goatee and short curly black hair. Had Harry seen him on earth he might have mistaken him for a wizard. He wore black robes with a hint of gold stitching in them. _At least I'm going to be tortured to death by someone with good taste._ Harry saw the small remote control in the Goa'uld's hand. Now that he could move he realized the pains were caused by some sort of foreign objects lodged in the back of his head and neck.

The Goa'uld looked over his shoulders to the Jaffa guarding the room. They stepped out side and the door closed behind them.

"I am your god, Ba'al," the Goa'uld said.

Harry looked at him as blankly as possible.

"If you provide useful information, I may let you live," Ba'al said.

Harry tried to repress a disbelieving snort. It came out as a hiccup. The Goa'uld watched him for a moment longer and then raised the remote control, so Harry could see it very clearly. His thumb pressed down on the button. Harry could hear the strange wheezing noises he was making. He couldn't get enough air to scream properly. The pain radiated out through his skull and down his spine. His muscles locked up. All sense of time was gone, but when it stopped Ba'al was holding his arm just as it had been, as if only a second had passed.

"I am not known for my patients, or my mercy. You will answer all of my questions, and then I will decide if you will live. You understand."

Harry didn't think any of that was a question, but he nodded.

"The shol'va you arrived with have stolen five of my cargo ships. They are taking them to a rebel camp. Where is the camp located?"

"I don't know," Harry said.

Ba'al held up the remote again. "Tell me where the camp is. Claiming ignorance will not save you."

Harry glared back at him. "What's a camp?"

Ba'al hit the button again. As Harry tried to get his eyes to focus again the Goa'uld continued to talk.

"Resisting will not save the traitors you have allied yourself with. The ships they stole while you were distracting my Jaffa all have tracking devices installed. We are pursuing them even now."

Harry felt his stomach drop, and tried not to let anything show on his face.

"You are Tauri. Why were you on Nortus? What weapon did you use against the Death Gliders?"

Harry shrugged. He wanted to say something dashing like "how about I show you?" and then blast the Goa'uld through the next three walls, but his magic was still out of commission.

"What weapon did you use to destroy my Death Gliders?"

"I used my magic powers," Harry said.

Ba'al hit the button.

The nextseveral hours went on in basically the same fashion, though Harry had run out of bad attitude to throw back at Ba'al's questions and was reduced to sullen silence. Ba'al was about to hit the button again when a chirping little alarm sounded. The whole room seemed to lean for a moment. Ba'al was smiling.

"The rebels have stopped. We will shortly be in weapons range. I will burn them from the face of the planet."

Harry could only stare at him. Ba'al pressed went to the door and opened it. He spoke to one of the guards and a moment later Ba'al returnedcarrying a fish bowl.

"Normally I would simply torture you until you'd bled out all the information I desire, but I have little time to indulge myself today. Fortunately there is another, much quicker method available."

Ba'al reached into the tank, and fished out the molten green snake like creature, which hissed and shrieked as soon as it was removed from the bowl.

"This symbiote matured a few days ago. I did not think I would find a host for it. My good fortune I suppose."

Harry tried to summon up some repellent force, but he had no more luck with it then he had knocking away Ba'al a few hours earlier. He searched for the bubbling crowding energy that usually filled him in panicked moments like these, but nothing came. He felt empty. _I need to cook and the bloody pilot-light's gone out. This is not happening! Not Happening!_

Ba'al stepped closer, smirking. "Preferentially a symbiote will enter through the throat or neck, but if it is given no other option it will move in through the eye socket."

Harry pressed back against the frame but there was no where to go. The parasite lunged at him but Ba'al still had a tight grip on it. It brushed against the side of Harry's face. He felt as if he was falling. _Not happening. This is not happening! _The feeling in his heart wasn't anything like magic but he could barely breathe because of it. He'd never felt such horror.

Something in his chest exploded.

* * *

Harry blinked. He'd never felt more exhausted, or upside down. He turned his head to the right. The room was scorched and filled with rubble. Part of the ceiling had collapsed and wires hung down. Bits of broken crystal were scattered across the floor. He looked to the left. He could see Ba'al's foot sticking out of under a large piece of ceiling. The Goa'uld he'd been threatening Harry with lay crushed and burned on the floor, blue goo oozing out of it. Harry sighed in relief. Now all he had to do was get untied and find some way to escape the ship and warn the rebels and not pass out again while he was doing it. He pulled against the straps. They apparently had not been at all affected by the final blast of accidental magic he'd been able to call up. The frame wasn't much affected either. It had simply come loose from the floor and tipped over.

A faint rustling sound came from rubble under which Ba'al had been buried. Harry felt his heart jump again. If Ba'al had only been knocked out, he'd wake up in a very bad mood. The booted foot shook for a moment, and then the body went still. Harry looked up at the ceiling again, and tried to take a calming breath. He didn't really think Ba'al was going to get up from that. His eyes tried to stay closed. He couldn't remember every being this worn down, not even after the Tri-Wizarding Tournament mess. _Maybe if I just rest for a few minutes I'll be able summon up enough magic for an "Alohamora". _His eyes sank closed and refused to be open again. As he passed out of consciousness, he thought he heard the faint sound of slithering on the other side of the room.


	16. Good Kitty

**Author's note: **People have been leaving predictions of the plot in their reviews, and all I can say is that some of you are right. I hope these next few chapters won't loose me too many readers.(evil grin) Don't forget to review!

**Crumpets Aren't My Style**

**By Marz**

**Good Kitty**

Her hair was standing on end long before the first fireball struck the camp. From the branches of a towering tree she'd seen the five cargo ships land in a clearing a few miles from the tents. The Jaffa had intended to retrieve more of them. The ship they left in had not returned yet either. Tail lashing in agitation, she sped down into the jungle below, running full tilt for the landing site. Other Jaffa from the camp ran on either side of her, in a hurry to greet their conquering companions. Their enthusiasm probably wouldn't be dampened, even if half the raiding party had been on the missing ships, blown into cinders on some distant world, and Harry with them. If he was alright she fully intended to sink her claws as far as they would go into that fool boy's backside for worrying her this much.

The doors of the ships hung open. A large number of Jaffa were assembled beside them. Bre'tac stood with them, talking solemnly. Harry wasn't there. She sniffed, but nothing earthly hung in the air. Harry had not come back with them.

"-would not listen. He left his post and went into the city," said Joe'mec, the man who was in charge of the younger warriors.

"Do you have any idea why?" asked Bre'tac.

"Morrigan's Jaffa had retreated into the city and Ba'al's Jaffa followed. The humans caught between them were being slaughtered. The boy apparently thought he could help them. He disappeared from his lookout post. We lost track of him for a time, but a half hour later he was sighted defending a group of humans fleeing the city. The Jaffa guarding the cargo ships were called off to help pursue the boy, and we took the opportunity to seize them. Ro'dan saw the boy, unconscious, being carried away by Ba'al's Jaffa, but there was no hope of rescue. The boy was taken to Ba'al's command ship. It has been seventeen hours since his capture."

"And you left without him!" McGonagall shrieked.

Of course the Jaffa only heard an incoherent yowl, but it was enough to make them jump.

"We must move camp again," Bre'tac said. "I am surprised he has lasted this long. Yet'ar! Bor'lan! Go and activate the shapa'i. Joe'mec, Rya'c, bring word to the camp. Ishtar-"

BOOM!

Bre'tac's words vanished in the echoing explosions. A fireball enveloped the nearest cargo ship and sent Jaffa flying in all directions. Another blast landed in the jungle, setting the trees ablaze. More fire fell from the sky, landing at the other end of the valley by the camp. McGonagall rolled to her feet, ears ringing and fur singed. Bre'tac was staggering upright a few yards away. She charged.

* * *

"MEEEEEEEEEOW!"

Though his ears were still ringing, Bre'tac heard the beast coming and managed to avoid its claws. The small creature scrambled into his path, hair on end and tiny fangs bared. He waved his staff weapon at it, trying to clear the way but it dodged and leapt at him again. He tried to go around it but it followed, digging its claws into his cape, and clawing half way up his shoulder before he managed to shrug it off. It let out another howl. He pitied the animal. He was sure it knew its master was not returning. But his pity only went so far. He had to regroup with the other survivors. He activated the staff weapon.

"You will move aside," he said, pointing the staff at the little beast.

The animal stood before him, four feet planted and tiny shoulders squared.

"EEEE ack!"

He'd have dismissed what sounded like an attempt to say his name as strange coincidence except the animal was looking into his eyes with far too much intelligence. He pulled the staff away.

"reee ack!" it tried again.

"Do you speak to me?" he asked, ducking as another blast landed in the jungle, spraying him with flaming leaves and soil.

The animal nodded its head. It dug one paw into the earth and began to trace out Tauri letters. He knew the Tauri alphabet, but didn't have much use for it until now.

**Collar**

With the word finished the animal stepped forward, and bent its head. He saw the metal collar bound around the animal's neck. The heavy links had rubbed away much of the fur.

"What of it?" he asked.

"OOOOOW!" it cried shaking its head about furiously.

"You want me to remove the collar?"

The cat nodded.

Bre'tac took the knife from his belt and knelt down. He slid the blade under the edge. The cat made a choking sound, but made noattempt to flee. The links were heavy, but he found one that didn't match the others, probably the latch. He jerked the knife upward. There was a harsh rasp of metal against metal, and then a sharp "ping" as the collar popped off onto the singed ground.

"And now?" he asked, as the animal shook itself and stretched.

Before his rapidly widening eyes the animal stopped stretching and started expanding. It took less then a second and all he could do was gawk. An elderly woman stood before him. She wore long gray robes and her hair was tied back in a greatly disheveled bun. Her neck was red and covered with blisters and bruises. She looked at him sharply through wire rimmed glasses.

"It's about bloody time," she growled. "Now, where is Harry Potter?"

"What are you?" Bre'tac asked, lowering his hand toward the trigger on his staff weapon.

"Don't be foolish," she snapped, eyes boring into him.

He backed off.

"That's better. Quickly now, where is the ship Harry was taken to? Is he on the craft that is firing on us?"

"That is very likely, though he may already be dead."

"Then the people on that ship will be in a desperate situation indeed. Can you show me the exact location of the craft on one of those monitor at the camp?"

"I can show you from the cargo ships, if you are willing to risk it."

She nodded and they rushed back across the burning, cratered field toward the two remaining ships. Most of the surviving Jaffa had run for the camp, but a few were trying to launch the ships and save them from destruction. The three Jaffa on board look rather surprised as the woman entered behind him, but were too busy trying to start up the engines to do much else.

"Master Bre'tac," said a young Jaffa woman with burns all down her left side. "The engines will not function. They have been sabotaged. I do not believe I can fix them."

"All of you, go to the shapa'i. We will follow when we can."

The three of them ran for the forest. Bre'tac brought up the sensors and communications system. Ba'al's flag ship was in orbit above them with ten Alkesh and several wings of Death Gliders. The force seemed excessive for the size of the camp they wished to destroy.

"If he is still alive, the boy is most likely aboard this craft, but I can not get you there in these ships."

CRACK!

Bre'tac whirled. The woman had vanished. He shook his head, wondering if he had been hallucinating. He ran from the ship into the burning forest. If they could reach the Tauri through the shapa'i they might yet survive the day.

* * *

CRACK!

A woman appeared in the corridor before them, holding a small stick in her hand. The security patrol had all of three seconds to look surprised before the walls attacked. Arms formed from the intricately inscribed gold and grabbed them, pinning arms and legs. The woman stalked towards them. She had a slight limp, but it barely detracted from the menace that hovered like a cloud around her. The floor rippled as if it were water as she walked upon it. She stopped before Ton'en, former first prime of Hera, and tapped him on the nose with the small stick she carried.

"Unless you would like to spend the rest of a very short life as a tuna fish, you will tell me where they are holding Harry Potter," she said, staring unblinking as the Jaffa.

"Who?"

She tapped the wall with the stick and large chunk tore itself free, morphing into the likeness of the boy they had captured on Nortus while battling Morrigan.

"This boy, where is he?"

"Lord Ba'al is questioning him."

"Where?"

"I will not tell you."

The five other members of the patrol gasped as Ton'en turned gray, and then scaly. He was shrinking and sprouting gills as she moved on to the next member of the patrol. The gold replica followed after her, miraculously animated.

"Tell me where they are keeping this boy."

* * *

Not since her trip to Prague had she received such consistently bad directions. She'd been searching the ship for nearly half and hour, and had yet to find Harry or any trace of this Ba'al character that was supposedly questioning him. She'd made it to the space craft with a leap of faith disapparation, and luckily had not ended up inside a wall, or splinched, but she couldn't risk another one so soon. She tried to find him with tracking spells, but those were utter rubbish. Most of them seemed unable to target or they would point at solid walls. She'd tried going straight through as they directed, but she wasn't as young as she used to be and using this much magic was wearing her down.

She came upon a room where several men stood by monitors with many glowing panels on them. She stunned all but one as she marched in the door and the last she stuck upside down to the far wall. She went and looked at the monitors but could make little sense of them. There seemed to be a picture of the planet which red dots circled around.

"How do I use these to find someone on the ship?" she asked the upside down man.

"I will tell you nothing," he said.

McGonagall frowned. She put her wand to the glowing panels. She thought a revealing spell might be able to help here. She'd used such magic to find information in books before.

"Revelo!"

The monitor sparked and went black and a panel on the side burst outward, revealing shattered crystals and smoking wires. Her frown deepened. She moved to the next monitor, which was still intact. There was a circle on the floor in front of it and she was a little skeptical about standing on it, but she did. There was a row of what looked a bit like piano keys along the bottom of the monitor, and she pushed down on the middle one.

For a moment she was standing in the forest on the rebel planet again. She drew back her hand and the forest vanished. She looked around the room, and saw the man hanging upside down on the wall and his unconscious fellows. She pushed the key again. The forest came back. She could still feel the key under her finger and the smooth floor under her feet. The forest around her must be some sort of illusion. She looked around and saw one of the Rebels running through the jungle to her right. _What was his name?_

"Rya'c!" she called.

The young man stopped and turned toward her, eyes wide and staff weapon aimed.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "How do you know my name?"

"That is of very little importance. I must speak with Bre'tac, and I do not know which of these confounded keys to hit, so it would simplify things if you could just get him to come here."

Rya'c approached and reached towards her. McGonagall was going to dodge away from such inappropriate pawing, but the young man's hand passed right through her.

"This is a hologram," he said.

"I suppose it is. But I don't really know what I'm doing and this ship is like a maze, so if you could find Bre'tac I would be much obliged."

"You're on Ba'al's ship?"

"Yes! Now please fetch Bre'tac!"

The young man nodded and ran off. McGonagall started as a blast of fire landed in the forest a few yards away. She grudgingly had to admit to herself that she was impressed by this alien technology. It was much less messy then sticking your head in the fire to send a message. She raised her finger from the key again and looked around the room. No one else had come in, but the men she had stunned were starting to stir. She conjured chains to make certain they didn't get into mischief while she was distracted and then pressed the key again. Bre'tac, Rya'c and a woman McGonagall didn't recognize came running a few minutes later.

"You are onboard the ship?" Bre'tac asked.

McGonagall nodded curtly. "Though it is not doing me any particular good at the moment. I need you to tell me what to do with these blasted panels. I can not find Harry nor anything else of use. All the guards I have captured tell me Ba'al is questioning him but I can get no straight answer beyond that."

"Where on the ship are you?" Bre'tac asked.

"In a room. There are three sets of monitors with glowing buttons and this one I am using now."

"But where on the ship?"

"I haven't the faintest notion."

"If you could activate the rings we might be able to take the ship. The shapa'i was hit by one of the blasts and we can not reactivate it."

"What are rings?"

"Is there a panel with a monitor that shows the planet? It should have a small icon on it, a cylinder with five divisions in it."

"There is."

"You should be able to-"

"That panel is currently producing a significant amount of smoke."

Bre'tac's face fell.

"If we could get a small party up to the ship-" he began.

"Bother!" muttered McGonagall.

She released the button and stepped out of the circle. The rebels were having trouble focusing on her problem at the moment. She sighed. At least, thanks to the "hollow-gram", it wouldn't be a leap of faith this time

* * *

The hologram vanished, and Bre'tac got a sinking feeling in his chest. For a moment he had hoped the woman who had been a cat would be their deliverance, but she seemed in no hurry to help. He'd ordered the remaining rebels to scatter into the forest when the shapa'i was hit. They had managed to send a distress call through to Earth, but before they could receive confirmation that the Iris over the Tauri gate was open, their own gate was lost to them. There was little they could do now but hide, and die bravely when Ba'al's forces landed to hunt them down.

CRACK!

The three warriors whirled as the cat woman appeared behind them.

"How-" Rya'c started to ask, but the woman cut him off with a sharp glare.

She looked at Bre'tac. "You know the layout of the ship? You would be able to locate Harry for me?"

He nodded.

She threw her arms around him.

He had time for a startled look at Rya'c and So'fra before the world twisted around and explosive sound filled his ears. He blinked.

And then he was standing in the communications center of Ba'al's command ship. Three of Ba'al's Jaffa lay in chains on the floor and another was stuck upside down to the wall by an unseen force. The cat woman sagged against him and he caught her before she slid to the floor.

"You're too bloody heavy," she muttered.

Her eyes were rolling around, unfocused in her head, and her face was growing more pale. A moment later she fainted. He put her over his shoulder and went to inspect the transport ring control panel. Several of the control and memory crystals had been damaged. He opened the side of an adjoining communications system and cannibalized some parts. He targeted them to the cargo ship by the camp. He stepped out into the hall and went to the room next door, where the rings would land. He activated them.

It was several minutes before they returned and he was growing concerned, but then Rya'c, So'fra, Yet'ar and Bor'lan appeared, and hope returned to him.

"Rya'c, stay here and continue to bring up as many of our warriors as you can. We will attempt to find Ba'al. The next group up will try to take control of the weapons systems."

Rya'c nodded toward the unconscious woman thrown over Bre'tac's shoulder. "Should I watch over her as well Master?"

"No, I will keep her with me. I believe she will awaken soon and we may need her."

Rya'c nodded and sent the rings down again.

* * *

Her ears were ringing and she had a suspicion that her hair was on fire. Professor McGonagall sat up and groaned. Her wand was still clenched tightly in her fists, but she was no longer in the room she had apparated to. She slapped out the smoking stands in her bun and crawled away from the panel that was sparking above her head. There were people running up and down the halls outside the small area she'd been left in. Her right leg ached almost as badly as her head. She saw one of those staff weapons lying on the floor, just out side and used it to levy herself to her feet.

"Cree Jaffa!" echoed up the hall.

She recognized Bre'tac's voice and hobbled towards it. A Jaffa leapt out in the hall before her and an orange blast of light came at her.

"Protego!" she said, waving her wand.

The orange light turned about in midair and sailed back at the Jaffa, striking the end of his staff and dissolving it into slag.

"Stupefy!"

Her attacker sank to the floor. She came across Bre'tac and two other rebels a dozen yards further on. They were crouched behind some sort of control panel exchanging fire with five times as many guards. She pointed her wand.

"Torrentus!"

A gale force wind blasted through the corridor, sending the ship's guards tumbling into a wall at the far end. The rebels turned towards her.

"I must find Harry Potter," she reminded them.

Bre'tac nodded. "We are certain Ba'al is somewhere on this deck, but he had modified the layout of the ship since last we had contacts here. His Jaffa are disorganized and I believe he is cut off from communication with them. We must search."

McGonagall nodded. "You are certain he is on this deck?"

Bre'tac nodded.

She tried another locator spell as the Rebels looked on in confusion, but her wand pointed her at another blank wall. She sighed. Her magic was not even halfway recovered from bringing Bre'tac up to the ship with her. Blasting through any number of walls did not seem to be viable option. She dropped the staff, put her wand back into the pocket of her robes, and turned into a cat.

Though dogs get all acclaim for tracking skills, cats have an equally good, if not superior sense of smell. They simply don't feel inclined, on most occasions to put it to use. The re-circulated air on the ship also posed a challenge, but it was not something she couldn't over come. McGonagall tore off down the hall. She heard feet trampling after her but they rapidly fell behind. The deck was full of twists and turns and on several occasions she crossed the path of enemy Jaffa, but they took little interest in her. It still took twenty minutes to track Harry down. He'd been dragged along the floor for quite a distance, and the trail ended in a sealed door, which several of Ba'al's own Jaffa were trying to open. She transformed and stunned them all. The door was not much of a challenge to her. Rather then bothering with the sparking control panels, she simply melted the whole thing, and a bit of the wall as well.

The room crackled with traces of accidental magic, and the décor suggested a mountain troll had recently gone on a rampage within its confines. There was rubble everywhere and the remains of the ceiling looked none too sturdy. And of course in the middle of the mess was Harry Potter.

"Oh Mr. Potter, what have you done to yourself?" she muttered, kneeling down by his side.

She pushed away a chunk of ceiling that had fallen on top of him. He was strapped to metal frame and covered with scrapes, burns, and bruises. She freed him from the frame only to discover further injuries. Two narrow metal cylinders had been driven into the back of his neck and skull. The exposed parts weren't much longer then the end of her little finger, but she had no idea how deep they went. She peeled back Harry's eyelid, but the pupils didn't respond to the light. When she put her hand to his throat she found a faint pulse. He was oddly stiff, almost as if rigor-mortis had set in before death.

"Can you hear me?" she asked.

He made no response.

She traced a diagnostic spell over him, wishing she was more practiced in the healing arts. It told her he was bruised, beaten, and burned, and that there was something wrong with his head, which she thought was most likely due to the large piece of metal jammed in it. She raised her wand, concentrating and hoping for the best. She vanished the cylinders. Harry relaxed suddenly, limp as boiled celery. He made a sort of strange gagging sound and looked around. He tried to talk and she leaned in, straining to hear.

"…my head…in my head…"

His eyes sank closed. He was referring the cylinders she supposed. She shook him and called his name but he wouldn't wake again.

"Is he alive?" called a voice from the doorway.

McGonagall turned and saw Bre'tac. She nodded. He entered the room carefully, staff weapon still glowing, and crossed to the other side of the room. McGonagall followed his line of sight and realized there was a dead man half buried over there. Bre'tac pushed some of the rubble off the body with the end of his staff.

"It was Ba'al," he said, sounding a bit awed.

He leaned down and inspected the back of the dead man's neck, and jerked his hand suddenly away.

"The Goa'uld has left its host."

McGonagall looked up, and saw the staff weapon glowing a few inched from her nose.

"I do not have parasites," she said, dismissing him with a glare and looking back over Harry. "Could that possibly be it?" she asked, pointing to the green gray lump resting in a blue-ish puddle about halfway between herself and the corpse.

Bre'tac walked over and poked it with his staff as well. "It is dead," he confirmed needlessly. The old Jaffa continued to look around the room, half amazed. "How did this happen?"

"Wizarding children tend to react explosively when threatened, though Mr. Potter is a bit old to do something like this. He must have been unusually terrified," McGonagall explained.

"The young of your world blow things up when frightened?" Bre'tac asked.

"Not generally, no," McGonagall said as she looked over Harry for other injuries. "Shouldn't you be taking control of the ship or some such thing?" she added.

"Rya'c had taken the bridge and Ishtar is using the ships weapons to destroy the Alkesh. At the moment you are my concern," he answered.

"Am I?" she asked.

She waved her wand conjuring up bandages for the cuts and icing charms for the bruises.

"I was told the boy was Tauri, from Earth," Bre'tac said.

He walked slowly towards her, eyeing the wand and its effects with great curiosity and concern.

"We are from Earth, yes," McGonagall said.

"But you…are you ancients?" he asked almost reverently.

"Ancient what's?"

"The Ancients are the builders of the shapa'i, the Stargates. They had immeasurable knowledge and incomprehensible powers, but they disappeared eons ago."

"I've never heard of such people," McGonagall said. "Except possibly in reference to Atlantis, but that's a ledged from before the beginning of history, so I wouldn't put much stock in it."

"Then what are you?"

"I am a witch."

"There is no such thing," he protested.

"Well there most obviously is, as I am here before you," McGonagall said.

She stood up, and cast a levitation charm over Harry.

"How do you do these things?" Bre'tac asked.

"I use magic."

"What is magic? The Goa'uld claimed to have magic, but the Tauri taught us they used machines to do the things we could not ourselves explain."

"Is there a secure room around here?" McGonagall asked changing the subject. "I would like to put Harry somewhere he can rest comfortably."

"Ba'al's personal chambers are several corridors down from here. I searched there first, before finding you here."

"I suppose that will do," she said.

They started walking, with Harry floating along behind them.

"What do you mean by magic?" Bre'tac started again. "Can you explain to me what it is, how it works?"

"Can you explain red to a color blind man?" she asked.

"How can someone be color blind?"

McGonagall sighed.

* * *

The subspace communication system was completely destroyed. One of Ba'al's Jaffa had tried to call in more ships and Rya'c had stopped him with a Tauri grenade. Neither the enemy Jaffa nor the control panel had survived. Ba'al's Jaffa had also tired to activate the self destruct. The rebels had stopped them, but much more of the ship was damaged in the process. Besides communications, the weapons systems were damaged, on the outside from the battle with the Alkesh and in the control rooms by the battling Jaffa. The Hyper-Drive was working, but power was fluctuating and they didn't really know why. If they were going anywhere it would have to be in short jumps. The Jaffa had plenty of experience using Goa'uld technology, but they were not taught much about repairing it. Aside from replacing parts with spares and trying to reroute around damaged areas, they were more then a little out of their league.

Bre'tac looked over the maps they had been able to pull up from the ship's archive. They were not so far from Earth. With short jumps they could be there in five days. It was the only secure place he could locate with in range of the ships damaged engines. He had considered sending the rebels back to the planet and letting the self destruct run its course, but the shapa'i was still not working. It and the dialing device had been damaged in the bombardment and he could not guarantee they would be able to repair them and leave before another of the System Lords came to inspect the planet where Ba'al was last seen.

Bre'tac instructed them to bring up the last of the supplies from the camp and to check over the engines again. Once they were ready to leave they would transport the last of Ba'al's surviving Jaffa to the planet's surface and head for Earth. Without the com systems to identify themselves, they were not likely to get a warm greeting from the Tauri, but Bre'tac thought they could use the radios to get a short range message out before they were fired upon. He found himself half smiling as he imagined O'Neill's face when he saw Ba'al's command ship entering their solar system.

Bre'tac left the command center and began the long hike to Ba'al's chambers, where he had left the unconscious boy and the witch-cat. He knocked on the ornately decorated door.

There was shuffling inside.

"Come in," called the witch.

Bre'tac pressed the panel. There was a protesting chime, indicating the door was locked. He told her so.

"One moment!" she called.

There was more shuffling. He could hear chimes coming from inside the room as she hit a series of incorrect keys on the panel.

"It is the third button from the top of the panel," he called. "It has a symbol of open arms upon it."

There was another chime. This time the door slide upwards into the ceiling, revealing the witch.

She appeared very different from the last time he had seen her. She was wearing a different set of robes. He wondered where she had gotten them, as they fitted her too well to have been Ba'al's. Then again, she claimed to have magic powers. Perhaps she had just created them from the empty air. Her gray hair was rearranged in neat braid, and she had a scarf around her neck, covering the marks caused by the collar. She had her "wand" in her hand, but she lowered it as she recognized him. Her mouth twitched in what might have been the hint of a smile.

"Do come in," she said, stepping aside.

Bre'tac gave her a short bow and entered, feeling slightly awkward. He started to speak, but suddenly was uncertain of what to call her. Was she Professor, or was that something the boy called her? He didn't want to insult her. He realized suddenly that he very much did not want her to be angry with him. What was the Tauri custom for situations like this? He held out his hand.

"I am Master Bre'tac," he said.

She took his hand and shook it firmly. "I am Professor McGonagall. In all this rushing about I suppose introducing myself slipped my mind."

"I would like to thank you for helping us capture this vessel. Without your intervention we may have perished on the planet bellow," Bre'tac said.

"And I, in turn, must thank you for looking after Mr. Potter. I think I would have been happier had you turned him out and sent the fool boy home, but as it was you were very patient with him."

"We were told he could not return to Earth," Bre'tac said.

"His life will be in grave danger there, but the only people who can help him reside there as well," McGonagall said.

"My former student and most trusted friend, Teal'c, told me the Trust was hunting him."

"That bunch of Muggles who tried to snatch him from the hospital on the other world?"

When Bre'tac nodded she continued.

"They're nothing compared to what's waiting for him on Earth, but he is needed. I shudder to think of what is going on in our country without him."

"He is that powerful?" Bre'tac asked.

He had seen the boy do some amazing and impossible things, but when it came to combat the boy did not have warrior's instincts.

"It is not power that makes him important," she said and then paused. "Our society is very…xenophobic I suppose is the best way to describe it. We have laws explicitly forbidding us from revealing our existence to outsiders who have no magic of their own. We are prohibited from telling even our friends among the muggles-"

"Muggles?"

"Humans who have no magic of their own."

"Do these laws include Jaffa?"

"As we had no notion that you existed, I think you are exempt. In any case I believe the fact that you travel between stars on space ships has our little conspiracy far overshadowed."

"But the boy?"

"He is important to our society because he is alive."

"That does not seem such a high standard to live up to."

"Among us it is. As an infant his parents were murdered, and the man who killed them makes these Goa'uld creatures look like saints."

"What are saints?"

"Never mind. The point is, this man, He-who-must-not-be-named, killed the boy's parents and then went to kill him, still in his crib. He had killed other children…so many others, but some how when he went to murder that tiny creature he himself was destroyed."

She looked across the room and Bre'tac followed her gaze. The boy was resting in a bed that looked as if it came from the SGC infirmary, his wildly upright hair sticking above the white sheets. He knew Ba'al had no such furniture. A Goa'uld did not need to sleep, and if they needed rest they would put themselves in a sarcophagus. The boy's face was pale, making the bruises stand out even more. His body would heal in time Bre'tac supposed, but he had some concern for the boy's sanity. Ba'al was known for his ability to destroy even the strongest minds, and he'd had the boy for nearly a day. They wouldn't know until he awoke.

"How did he survive?"

"Nobody knows. But whatever it was that saved him, He-who-must-not-be-named could not stand it. He created a new body for himself, and tried to regain his powers through the boy, but Harry survived him yet again. He tricked Harry into another confrontation half a year ago, and still the boy survived. No matter how may times he has tried to kill Harry Potter, he has survived."

"And your people think he is the only one who can defeat this unnamable one?"

"Something like that. With Harry Potter around my people knew that He-who-must-not-be-named had a weakness, that it was possible to defeating him. Without Harry, I fear they will loose hope. They will loose the will to resist Him, because if he has defeated the boy-who-lived, what chance do they have? I am afraid of what is happening in our homeland without him there."

"We are returning to Earth," Bre'tac told her.

She nodded. "In this craft I assume."

He nodded. "The shapa'i is damaged beyond our ability to repair. The engines of this ship are damaged as well. It will take up at least five days to reach the Tauri."

"I suppose he will be alright until then," McGonagall said, nodding toward the boy.

"Do you believe he can defeat this nameless one?"

The witch woman shook her head. "I don't believe any one person can. But Harry can not run forever. He has learned how to fight with his fists from you, but to survive He-who-must-not-be-named, he will need to fight with magic, and he can not learn that anywhere but Earth. We will protect him until he has learned enough."

"Is he family to you?" Bre'tac asked.

She snorted. "I could never raise so foolish a child as this," she said almost affectionately. "He is one of my students."

"You are a teacher as well?" Bre'tac asked.

She nodded. "That's what 'Professor' means. I teach Transfiguration."

"And that is magic." Bre'tac said.

"A type of magic, yes."

He was still trying to figure out what she had said earlier about describing the color red. Whatever this "magic" was it still sounded much like what the ancients used, though McGonagall apparently did not have the healing powers that O'Neill had for the few days he was possessed by the Ancient's knowledge.

McGonagall paced the room once and then took a small vase from an alcove and put it in the center of the room. She waved her wand over it and it morphed suddenly into a chair. She took a step towards it and wobbled. Bre'tac caught her elbow.

"Are you unwell?" he asked.

She shrugged off his hand and waved the wand again. The chair expanded into a couch. She immediately sat down. He leaned over and pressed down on the seat with his hand, not quite believing it was real. When it proved solid he sat as well.

"I am getting too old for this sort of thing," McGonagall said.

"How old is too old?" Bre'tac asked.

"Eighty seven," McGonagall replied.

Bre'tac laughed. "I am one hundred and thirty nine."

"Well you are in much better shape then the other centagenarians I know."

"Do you know very many?"

"Only a handful actually."

They sat in silence for a long while. Bre'tac was less certain then ever of what he should say. This witch woman had powers he would not have dreamed of, and yet she seemed completely lost dealing with even the simplest technology. If these witches would ally themselves with the rebel Jaffa they could unseat the Goa'uld from power completely. And yet this unnamable creature they battled sounded more powerful then Anubis, who had come so close to concurring the galaxy less then a year ago. If this creature were made aware of the larger universe, what could they do to stop him?

"When we return to Earth, where do you wish to go?" Bre'tac asked.

"I am uncertain. I should contact a colleague of mine, Dumbledore, before we get too close. We will have to hide Mr. Potter's return from his enemies."

Bre'tac nodded. "These are dangerous times. I wish you luck in your battle." He stood, knees aching. "I must make certain the younger warriors are not flying us into a sun. I will return latter."

McGonagall stood as well and walked him to the door. He bowed as he left and she returned the gesture with a little smile. He started the long walk back to the command center felling suddenly several decades younger.

* * *

Professor McGonagall put her feet up on the transfigured couch and closed her eyes. It had been an incredibly long day. She had just started to doze when she heard the creaking of bed springs on the other side of the room. She turned and saw Harry was sitting up, and looking around the room with a slightly confused expression. She schooled a very stern look onto her face, so he wouldn't think getting injured had gotten him out of trouble with her.

"How are you feeling Mr. Potter?" she called across the room.

He turned and looked at her, and then smiled widely.

"Better then ever, Professor."


	17. Bad Dog

**Author's note:** Sorry again that this, and all my updates, took forever. This chapter takes place at the same time as an earlier chapter, so please don't get confused by the overlap. I think the time lines are worked out alright, but if you notice any glaring incongruities let me know in a review. In fact, you better leave a review no matter what.

**Crumpets Aren't My Style**

**By Marz**

**Bad Dog**

The weather man had predicted lows in the sixties that day. Airman Geoffrey predicted the weatherman would get a good kick in the pants if he ever saw him. It was three hours since dawn, and the air still hadn't warmed above freezing. He paced back and forth in front of the checkpoint, trying to keep the feeling in his feet. Every breath he took obscured the rest of the world for a few seconds in white mist. He looked toward the little booth where Airman Clark was standing. Geoffrey wanted to be spiteful about the little bit of extra shelter Clark got, but he knew the other man wasn't any warmer. Geoffrey turned back toward the road and let out a long sigh.

As the fog of his exhalation cleared, a man melted into being not five feet in front of him. The over all impression of the stranger was gray; gray coat, gray slacks, light brown hair shot through with gray, grey eyes, even his skin was tinted with that ambivalent non-color. Geoffrey blinked.

"I'd like to speak to Colonel Carter, please," the man said, proving not be some figment of Geoffrey's imagination. He'd never have a hallucination with a British accent. "Is she available?"

"Put your hands on your head and step back!" Airman Geoffrey ordered.

The man shrugged and obeyed. His face was completely passive. Over the years Geoffrey had had to deal with all sorts of nuts trying to get into the base, but that was usually when he was on duty at the first security check point, two miles away from the mountain. Tourists wanted to take pictures of the mountain wildlife. Hippies wanted to protest the nukes and the government. Wackoes wanted to see the aliens and JFK's frozen head. Geoffrey didn't know what was in the mountain and he didn't really care. What he really wanted to know was how a sickly looking British guy had gotten past six other check points. He pushed the talk button on his radio.

"Security breach, Zeta-o-one-red."

A moment later the radio buzzed back. "We have you on camera. Sending back up."

* * *

"It is really very urgent that I speak to Colonel Carter or Dr. Jackson if he's available," the man said to the two airmen guarding the door.

In the adjacent room two people watched the man on the security monitor with varying degrees of interest. The guards at the entrance had searched him thoroughly before brining him onto the base. They'd found a set of car keys, a wallet containing twenty seven dollars and fifty cents, and a handkerchief.

"This is one of the guys who attacked you in Surrey?" O'Neill asked.

"No, he's one of the guys who held us captive in London. He introduced himself as Remus Lupin." Daniel said.

"So he's one of the guys who went through your heads?" O'Neill asked.

Daniel nodded. "He was very apologetic about it."

"Which of course makes everything fine," O'Neill said.

Daniel pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm just saying that maybe we should give him a chance."

"A chance to snatch some more of my people and go through their heads too? He might even be the one responsible for all the strange stuff going on around here."

"He's not the one people have been seeing wandering around in their dreams," Daniel pointed out.

O'Neill repressed the urge to sigh. He'd sent out what was probably the strangest memo in Air Force history just over two months ago.

_If you should, at any time while unconscious, encounter an unusual or suspicious individual who questions you or seems overly interested in the contents of your dreams, do your best to avoid giving said person any information._

He'd actually signed the damn thing too. The craziest part of all was that it seemed to work. The strange dreams had mostly stopped.

"There has to be something else going on here," O'Neill stated. "Why would he just turn himself in?"

"He seemed to have moral objections to what the rest of his…group was doing. Maybe he's defecting."

"Alright. You and Carter go see what he wants. And take a couple of zats with you."

* * *

"Mr. Lupin," Daniel said.

He and Carter walked into the room, and nodded to the guards, who left and closed the door after them. Lupin looked up at them with a sort of polite interest that seemed completely out of place. He didn't look as if he'd just been apprehended by military police and locked in a room several hundred feet under ground.

"Dr. Jackson, Colonel Carter," he said politely, nodding to each of them.

Daniel wrinkled up his nose, realized what he was doing, and stopped. It was a strange habit of his he seemed unable to break, despite nearly nine years of teasing and snide comments from Jack. It probably wasn't impressing the prisoner either.

"So," Daniel started. "What are you doing here?"

"I need to know where Harry Potter is," Lupin responded.

"And why would you think he was here?" Carter asked.

"This is the last place we were able to track him. He was brought in but never came out."

"Why do you think he never came out?"

"Because we've been watching," Lupin answered, staring at her with suddenly disturbing intensity.

"He isn't here," Daniel said.

Lupin's nostrils flared. "I know," he said, before taking another slow deep breath through his nose. "He hasn't been here for at least three months. He's gone somewhere else from here. You know where."

"Where could he go from here?" Carter asked, doing her best to play dumb. "We're hundreds of feet under ground."

Lupin reached into the pocked of his coat, and withdrew a thick square of folded parchment. Daniel and Carter both tensed. The prisoner had been searched, so this really shouldn't have been possible. He tossed it toward them. Carter caught it and unfolded it. The Stargate had been sketched out in charcoal. It was a bit smeared from being folded and pocketed, but each of the thirty nine symbols were readily identifiable.

"What's this?" Daniel asked, peaking over Carter's shoulder.

The man sat watching them quietly, and did not answer.

* * *

He didn't speak a word, but his rage was fairly obvious. The motel room shuttered. Plaster fell from the ceiling and in the parking lot several car alarms began their distressed bleating. He took a slow breath through clenched teeth, and picked up the note again. It wouldn't do to accidentally implode the motel and bring the N.A.W.C. running, not with Lupin doing his best to summon them anyway.

**_Severus,_**

**_This isn't working. We don't have time. I am going to speak to the muggles directly. Do not try to follow me. I will return shortly with information about Harry._**

**_-R. J. Lupin_**

If the muggles, the N.A.W.C., or the Death Eaters didn't kill that damn fool werewolf, Snape swore upon his mother's grave that he would.

He'd given Lupin a cauldron full of wolf's bane potion and left him alone in the motel room for the full moon. He'd returned in the morning, expecting to find the werewolf in human form again and the room smelling of wet dog. Only the later half of his expectations were fulfilled. He had found the note on the table between the two beds.

He snatched out his wand and began to weave a tracking spell in the air. The magic flared to life and he had to choke down another outburst of rage. Lupin was already under Cheyenne Mountain.

He picked up the note again. The idea of tearing it up was at the front of his mind, but that thought was banished as he held the parchment up to the light and saw something was written on the other side. He set the note down on the table and smoothed it out. Faint lines of ink were bleeding up through the paper, resolving into a floor plan. Snape recognized it immediately as plans for the base, which he'd been stealing from the minds of its soldiers for the past few months. Tiny dots appeared on the map, labeled Sgt. Walter and Captian Lee. The corner of the map was labeled level sixteen.

Snape tapped the sixteen with his wand. The lines faded and rearranged themselves. A seventeen appeared in the corner and a whole new batch of labeled dots. It was the same map-magic Potter's little gang had used at Hogwarts all those years ago. It was a magic Snape had never been able to master. This map wasn't secured with any particular enchantments though. It seemed Lupin had designed it to activate when he touched it. It probably also explained why the werewolf had gone to the base in person. The magic that was tracing the base personnel had to be cast within the building.

Resolutely Snape began to search the other floors. He still intended to kill the werewolf, but this would at least make it easier to drag him off to a nice, witness free place first.

* * *

"If we recall them, all of London will be exposed," Bill Weasley argued, tapping the table spanning map with his wand.

"They're hardly making a difference as it is," Charlie Weasley said.

The two brothers glared at each other for a long moment before Mad-Eye Moody elbowed his way between them to lean over the map.

"With the Aurors all put to guarding the Ministry or Acting as Fudge's personal body guard there is no one else to deal with the Death Eater raids," Bill persisted. "The Order is all the muggle-born have."

"They could come to Hogwarts like Headmaster Dumbledore suggested," Charlie said, giving his older brother another challenging stare over the top of Moody's bent head.

"That's just what we need," said Oliver Wood, one of the newest recruits, as he nodded towards the window.

Few people in the room bothered to follow his glance. They all knew about the tent town out on the school's Quidditch pitch. In the past three months sixty families had come to call the pitch home. They were either muggles with wizarding children or the muggle spouses of wizards; the prime targets of Voldemort's death squads. Dumbledore had invited all the "mixed" families that were on file at the Ministry to seek sanctuary at the school, but very few had taken him up on it. He'd tried to explain, to those who would not trade the comfort of their homes for the security of being behind the schools wards, that if the Ministry knew where they lived, the Death Eaters most certainly did as well. And out of nearly four thousand, sixty had come.

The Order had doubled in size in the last month and a half, since the Death Eater raids began in earnest, but they were still outnumbered by Death Eaters three to one in the most conservative counts. Most of the old wizarding families had decided to remain neutral, as if Voldemort's intended genocide was something they could avoid by ignoring. Needless to say the situation was frustrating, and tempers were extremely raw. Bill and Charlie might have gotten into another shouting match, if Dumbledore had not returned to his office at that moment.

They had never seen him so worn down. He was wearing a rather nondescript set of gray robes rather then the garish colors they were used to. His glasses were noticeably scratched and his hands shook as he took out his wand and drew up a chair for himself.

"Any news Headmaster?" asked Oliver after the ancient man had seated himself.

"I am afraid not. I am of course hopeful that the Andersons have simply taken it upon themselves to drop out of sight. There was no sign of disturbance in their home and their neighbors did not observe them leaving. It is not the style of the Death Eaters to leave so little destruction in their wake."

The old man paused for a moment and all in the room waited in respectful silence.

"There has been some progress in obtaining aid from the Spanish and Norwegian Ministries, though the French and German governments insist they won't take sides in a civil war, and the N.A.W.C. is being unusually cryptic in their replies to my inquiries."

"What are they saying, sir?" asked Charlie.

"Their Bureau of Miracles sent us a strange letter containing passages from the Book of Revelations, something about a serpent and fire from above."

"That whole continent is out of its tree," said Moody, peering at the map of the U.K. as if it were acting unusually suspicious. "Half their laws are based on debunked prophesy and astrology."

"Speaking of the Americas," said Professor Flitwick, who until that time had been sitting quietly by the Headmaster's desk, "Have we heard anything from Professor Snape or-"

The fire place flared up in a blast of nearly blinding green light; the extra brilliance an indication of Transatlantic Floo.

"Speak of the Devil…" muttered Moody as Snape's head appeared in the heart of the flames.

"Lupin has doomed us all," the potions professor announced with an unspoken I-told-you-so.

* * *

Remus drummed his fingers against his arm. He didn't know how much progress he was making. He knew it was risky hinting that he knew something about that strange circle of metal the muggles were all so obsessed with, especially since he was unable to find any clue as to what it was. Severus said the muggles dreamed about walking through it. Lupin had never heard of such a thing aside from the Veiled Arch in the Department of Mysteries, and what went through that didn't come back.

Dr. Jackson and Colonel Carter had taken the sketch and left for a few minutes, and then returned with several more guards and a change of clothes for him. His own things were taken away for further search. They couldn't figure out where the sketch had come from and he could tell they were greatly disturbed. They wouldn't find anything in his clothes of course. The concealment spells he used kept a few necessary objects in a pocket of magically folded space, linked to his person, rather then to his attire.

They'd brought him here and left him after he'd changed. He now sat in a plastic chair in a concrete room filled with large rumbling and whirring machines, dressed in green "hospital scrubs" as the nurse called them, but he could still reach into the space he'd folded and retrieve his wand if he needed too.

_So everything's fine, really_, he told himself.

He sniffed the air. It smelled of strange chemicals and bleach and all the other strange things muggles used as medicine. Under all those other strange scents Lupin could detect just a hint of something else. If it was further from the full moon he probably wouldn't have been able to detect it, but as it was he could smell Harry in this room, sick and slightly scarred, but alive. He could also smell a hint of disapproving cat, which gave him hope that McGonagall was still with Harry. She'd keep him out of trouble no matter where they had been sent, he hoped. He shifted a little, eyes wandering back to the huge machines. What had they been doing to Harry in here?

"Sorry to keep you waiting," said a tall Indian woman who had the name Brightman stitched on her white coat. "Please, come stand over here."

Remus obeyed, standing in bare feet on yellow line painted on the concrete floor. He glanced toward the two men in fatigues stationed on either side of the door. One of them had a completely blank expression, well practiced in the art of not seeing what he should not be looking at. The other guard was not so skilled and every few minutes his eyes would wander toward Remus as he was told to stand here, here, and here and then to sit here please and don't blink, and finally to lie on this platform and don't move or we'll have to start again.

The platform slid into one of the great whirring machines, and carried him with it. There was a sudden loud bang as if someone were beating the outside of the machine with a hammer. He flinched. This wasn't helping his migraine in the least.

"Try not to move," Brightman's voice buzzed through a little grill in the wall beyond his feet.

For half an hour he lay on the platform in the loud machine. Then the platform carried him back out and he got shakily to his feet. Brightman returned with two additional guards in tow. She waved him back to the plastic chair in which he had started. He sat. She rolled up his sleeve and pulled a wet piece of paper out of a small envelope and began to rub the inside of his arm with it.

"What are you doing?" Remus finally asked.

"It's only disinfectant. I need to take a blood sample," she answered.

He pulled his arm away. "I'd rather you didn't," he said as politely as he could.

"Its standard procedure," she said in voice that was attempting to sooth. "We have to make certain you aren't carrying anything contagious. Everyone on the base is screened."

As she spoke she tried maneuver his arm onto a little cart one of the guards had rolled up next to them. The cart was covered in needles, strange cylinders, and plastic tubes. He pulled his arm away from her again and held it against his chest as if he were afraid she was going to run off with it.

"I really must object," he said sliding out of the chair and backing away.

All four guards were looking at him then. Remus wished he still had shoes on. He never felt very intimidating when he was barefoot. He looked to the door. He probably couldn't reach it simply dodging around the guards. He thought about pulling his wand and just going, but he was in the thick of things and it would be a lot of wasted effort and broken rules if he ran for it. On the other hand if the muggles were to do something foolish with his blood so close the full moon the consequences for all of them could be much worse. A guard darted forward trying to catch hold of him as Brightman stepped back out of harm's way. Remus dodged, backing further into the room.

It was not a very good idea, but it was all he could come up with at that moment. Dodging an attempted tackle he jumped backwards on to the platform of the whirring, clacking machine and scrambled into it. It seemed even smaller, despite the fact that the platform was still outside and he was crouched on its tracks. His new shelter wasn't more then six feet deep but Brightman called off the guards when one of them tried to scramble in after him. Apparently the machine was very expensive. Remus new he couldn't have been crouched in there more then five minutes when a new voice entered the room.

"What's…going on here?" asked a loud and slightly caustic voice.

"General O'Neill!" one of the guards said.

* * *

The combination of repulsion spells and over-look-me charms made Snape's head hurt as he stared into his reflection in the window of the overcrowded bus. He had intended to apparate to Cheyenne Mountain, but as he prepared to leave the motel, several of his dark detectors went off, suggesting such a taxing use of magic in the area would attract a lot of unwanted attention. So it was either use muggle transportation or walk. He'd have to walk at least six miles anyway, since the bus route did not take it very close the military base. He was starting to wish he had walked the whole way. The bus rattled to a stop and a fat woman in spandex pants took the seat next to him. He needed a stronger repelling charm. The bus started up again.

He took the map of the base from his pocket and looked it over again. Lupin was in one of the lowest levels of the base, in the room labeled "Infirmary Lab 1". He was surrounded by muggles, and was no doubt in a great deal of trouble. Snape snorted, feeling slightly appeased. The bus rattled to a stop again. A flutter of dark cloth drew his attention to the front of the vehicle. He blinked and it was gone. He started at the new passengers as they walked up the isle. Again he thought he saw the fluttering edge of a cloak. He stared harder, using Legilimency to peel away at the illusion spells that concealed the unknown figure. His head ached terribly but it worked. A few strained seconds later the illusion vanished and he was staring at Rookwood. Rookwood was staring back.

* * *

"…and then he crawled into the MRI tunnel," Dr. Brightman finished.

"Have you tried offering him a lollypop yet?" O'Neill asked, resisting the urge to lunge into the machine and drag the man out by his ears.

Brightman just looked at him. She was competent, but she didn't have Dr. Frasier's sense of humor, not really any sense of humor for that matter.

"Well you did the MRI scan already, right? We already he know he doesn't have snakes in his head?" O'Neill asked.

"There is another problem with that sir," Brightman said, waving him over to the monitors in the adjoining room.

"For cryin' out loud! It better not be nannites!"

"It isn't."

All the monitors were covered in neat glowy pictures of Mr. Lupin's brain. O'Neill had actually gotten pretty good at understanding such images, and if given a quiz on snake in brain versus no snake in brain, he was confident he'd get a ten out of ten. This guy was not a Goa'uld. Of course there was a "but".

He ran his finger over the closest monitor. It looked as if there were a second, faint image superimposed over the first, an animal skull as well as a human one. The animal had very big teeth.

"What is that?" he asked.

"I don't know sir. At first I though maybe someone had scanned an animal in the machine, which would have been a major breach of protocol, but I checked the previous entries and the system was clear. I've run all the diagnostics. I even tried cleaning the monitors. I can't explain the image and I can't get rid of it. It's in all the scans. The x-rays came back with similar…distortion."

She opened an envelope and stuck several sheets to the back-lit board. The animal "shadow" was even more apparent in these.

"Is it a…lion?" O'Neill guessed, squinting and turning the picture at different angles.

"Actually sir I have some experience with mammalian osteology. I'd say it was a wolf."

"A wolf?"

"Yes sir. It's larger then any species that currently exist, but the maxillary structure suggests…"

"AH! A yes or no answer is fine, Doctor. What does it mean?"

"I have no idea sir."

"Right." O'Neill said, as he looked back at the guards surrounding their multi-million dollar medical equipment. He sighed. "Are you sure you don't have any lollypops?"

* * *

Rookwood had taken a seat one row up on the opposite side of the bus. The seat had a sign bolted above it reading "reserved for the elderly and disabled" of which he was neither. He sat watching Snape and Snape stared right back. Neither one had pulled a wand or spoken. Apparently the Death Eater was just as concerned about drawing the N.A.W.C. as he was.

Snape spared a glance out the windows. They had just passed into an industrial area. He could see several warehouses and very few stray muggles. He supposed this was as good a place as any to take care of things. He pulled the cord that ran along the side of the bus. A sharp "Ding" let the driver know to let him off at the next stop.

The bus rumbled to a halt and Snape stood and slowly stepped across the fat woman in the spandex pants, into the isle. He walked backwards to the rear door of the bus. Rookwood stood and back pedaled to the front door. Never taking their eyes off each other, they synchronously walked down the three short steps to ground. The bus closed its doors and rolled off again in a cloud of foul gray smoke, leaving the two wizards facing off under the glaring noonday sun.

"Nothing to say for yourself, traitor?" Rookwood called, suddenly breaking the silence.

"Avada Kedavra," said Snape.

The bolt of green light flew at Rookwood but he dove out of the way. The spell took too long to cast to be effective in dueling but Snape thought it expressed his intentions very clearly. He'd never dueled with Rookwood, not even at Hogwarts, so he didn't know what to expect from the other man. A blinding hex shot back at him and Snape blocked it, but in the instant it took to counter the spell, Rookwood vanished.

_He must have had an invisibility cloak_, Snape thought.

"Obfuscate!" he bellowed and thick greenish fog boiled up from the street.

"And now neither of us can see!" Rookwood called laughing. "But I don't need to see you to do this!"

Snape stood tense, senses stretched out, straining to hear the other's foot steps. There was a faint itching sensation in his left forearm. It was all the warning he got.

Black flames erupted from the Dark Mark tattooed there. The entire left side of his body went numb and he fell to the ground, hissing in pain. He saw the fog swirling before him and fired off a blasting hex, but the spell had nothing behind it and Rookwood batted it lazily aside with his wand.

"Expelliarmus!"

Snape's wand slipped from his fingers. The sensation hadn't returned, but Snape still struggled to get to his feet. Rookwood's boot connected with his ribs. A second kick caught him in the forehead and rolled him against the curb.

"Crucio!"

It took several seconds for Snape to remember where he was when the other man let up.

"I was told," Rookwood began in a rather board voice, "That you would be some kind of great challenge to catch. But you're really not so tough are you?"

Snape brought his hands to his sides as if he were going to struggle to his feet again.

"Tough was never really my thing." he hissed.

"I'm going to enjoy this!" Rookwood declared melodramatically as he pointed his wand at Snape.

"I very much doubt that," Snape said, suddenly pressing the palm of his right hand against his own ribs.

There was a faint crackling sound as a tiny glass vial in his pocket shattered under the pressure. Yellow smoke billowed up around the fallen man in a cloud. Rookwood gasped in surprise, so even as he hurriedly conjured up a bubble of clean air around his head, it was too late. He choked. His lungs burned and he coughed falling to his knees. The bubble he'd made collapsed and his next breath drew in more of the yellow smoke. He dropped his wand, clutching at his throat with one hand and searching his pocket for his emergency portkey with the other. The world went dark and he could feel liquid running down his face, from his eyes, nostrils and mouth. He gave one final bubbling cough and pitched forward, face down on the asphalt.

The wind cleared the conjured fog and the poisoned smoke faded away. Snape blinked and watched the corpse that lay a few feet away for several minutes. Blood was oozing from Rookwood's eye sockets. He was very glad he'd spent the forty hours brewing the antidote for that particular potion. Dosing himself with antidotes for the poisons he carried was a common practice for him. There were a few annoying side effects from taking so many antidotes, but he could live with the greasy skin, yellow teeth, and strange smells.

His feeling of triumph was short lived. He used his right arm to crawl out of the gutter and collect his wand, but he couldn't feel his left side any longer, and therefore could not disapparate. He coughed and a few drops of blood splattered on the sidewalk. For a moment he thought the antidote for the Demon's Breath potion had failed him, but then a pain flared up in his side, and he concluded it was probably only a punctured lung from where Rookwood had kicked in a few of his ribs.

"Nothing really to worry about," he murmured as the world went dark.

* * *

"Unauthorized off world activation!" bellowed a voice through the intercom.

His hand was on the door of his office, but O'Neill immediately turned around. They had finally gotten Lupin out of the MRI and the strange man even gave up a blood sample after Daniel promised him they would destroy it after checking for contagions, and that under no circumstances would anyone drink it. Dr. Brightman had been unable to type it. O'Neill jogged up the steps to the control room. Walter had already closed the iris, and was monitoring the incoming radio frequencies. As he got to the top step, the gate shut down.

"Walter?"

"The rebel Jaffa sir. They'd just sent through their I.D.C. along with a distress signal, when the gate shut down."

"Dial them back."

Walter's fingers flew across the key board, and the inner ring of the gate began to spin.

"Chevron seven will not lock."

"Crap. What did the distress signal say?"

Walter put on his head phones.

"The signal was subjected to some form of interference sir. I'm trying to clean it up now."

O'Neill watched as the tech sergeant messed with little boxes and monitors on the screen. Walter suddenly frowned. He passed the head phones over to O'Neill.

"That's as clear as I could make it sir."

"…-bzt Ba'al's fleet…fssssssssss….from orbit……..the iris….evac-"

"Well that's not good. See if we can get the Tok'ra on the line. They had a base on that world until a week ago. Maybe they left scanning equipment behind."

Walter nodded and rolled his chair over to the subspace communication consol. Carter came running up the steps.

"The Rebels just called in a distress signal from PX499. They're under attack from Ba'al and it looks like their gate's malfunctioned. How long would it take the Prometheus to reach them?"

Carter frowned. "Sir the Prometheus is having its reentry engines overhauled-"

"When is that damn thing ever not being overhauled?"

"It will be at least 72 hours before it can leave orbit."

"Walter any word-"

A loud buzzing echoed through the control room and Carter jumped nearly a foot in the air. She blushed. As the rest of the crew looked on, she pulled her wildly jumping cell phone out of her pocket.

"I didn't think it could get reception down here," she mumbled as she checked the caller I.D.

"So who is it?" O'Neill asked, smirking slightly as he leaned over a free consol to pull up data on PX499.

"Its Pete," she mumbled almost inaudibly.

She really hated it when her fiancé called her at work. It made her feel guilty for reasons she wasn't willing to examine. There was a text message on the cell phone's tiny screen that read **Emergency**. A moment later a picture popped up.

"Holy Hanna," she muttered.

"What?"

"This picture Pete just sent me-"

"Nothing too dirty I hope," O'Neill muttered.

"What?" Cater said sharply.

"Nothing. What's the picture of?"

She held the phone up in front of his face. Greasy, aka Mr. Smith, the escaped prisoner from London was unconscious and strapped to a gurney. Blood was running down from his hair line. Carter put the phone to her ear.

"Pete says they found him unconscious in an alley in Colorado Springs. There was another guy in the alley, dead with his face melted off. There are burns all over the surrounding buildings, suggesting a battle with energy weapons. He says if we want to take custody from the police we better get somebody down there to grab the guy before the FBI does."

"Right. Go get him, Carter."

"Yes sir."


	18. Too Good To Be True

**Author's note: **Sorry this up date took so very very long. The good news is I passed all of my classes. Also M.I.A. stands for Missing In Action. My sister was proof reading and didn't get the acronym so I thought I'd explain it.

**Crumpets Aren't My Style**

**By Marz**

**Too Good to Be True**

Snape woke up strapped to a bed. In his experience, this sort of situation never turned out well. His head was throbbing and it felt as if someone had dropped metal shavings into his mouth as he slept. That there was a metallic tang on his tongue seemed to back that theory. He pulled at the tan leather bands around his wrists and ankles that held him down. There was only the slightest amount of give in them, and almost an instant after he tested them, two guards walked into the long, dimly lit concrete room. They didn't look directly at him, so any chance of gathering information through legilimency was slim. It was twenty more minutes before O'Neill showed up, wandering into the room with a mildly interested expression, as if he had just realized he liked the furniture. A moment later the large dark-skinned man with the gold symbol on his forehead strode purposefully in. The two men arrived at Snape's bedside simultaneously.

"So, what brings you to Colorado, Mr. Smith?" O'Neill asked.

"The weather," Snape drawled.

"The weather?" O'Neill asked.

"I'm working on my tan," Snape said, his lip twitching in a sneer.

O'Neill stood nonplussed for a moment then turned to the silent dark-skinned man. "Teal'c, I think he just made a joke."

"Indeed," the man, Teal'c apparently, replied.

Snape's eyes were drawn to the symbol on the man's forehead. He had seen it through the eyes of the man's companions and told the werewolf to look it up. Surprisingly, he had actually managed to find a reference to it. It was the symbol of the ancient Egyptian god Apophis, an entity that fought to keep the world in darkness, while Ra, the sun god, fought to keep the light. Snape supposed that could mean any number of things. The man standing over him could be a dark wizard, bound somehow to that entity. He'd run into such cults before, but they rarely left Egypt. And he'd never seen this man use anything that was explicitly magical. The strange staff-like weapon the man used to aid their escape from the Dark Lord's mansion was something Snape could not explain, but he supposed it could have been some sort of muggle technology.

Snape looked into the man's eyes, trying to find some ingress with legilimency, but found nothing. The man's mind was completely closed. _It could be the recent blow to the head,_ Snape thought. He turned his gaze on O'Neill.

Lying on the ground surrounded by ice…"Go Carter…That's an order"… "I'll come back with help"…so cold, hard to breathe… "Go!"

The images were cut off suddenly as O'Neill fell over and broke eye contact. The muggle was back on his feet instantly but nearly fell over again. Teal'c caught the collar of his shirt as he started to tip. Snape supposed that proved his own abilities had not been affected. Teal'c had noticed him trying to sneak through his dreams using Hag's Wine as well. Snape still wasn't certain if this confirmed magical abilities or not. O'Neill's sense of balance returned and he pointed a reprimanding finger at Snape.

"Keep that up and we'll have to strap another bucket to your head."

Snape rolled his eyes.

"Fine, be that way. Is he well enough to be moved into a secure room?" O'Neill shouted over his shoulder to the woman in the white coat who was just coming through the door.

"Yes sir."

"Then do it."

* * *

O'Neill looked at the bottle of aspirin sitting on the pile of paperwork in front of him. He'd taken two of them to get rid of the headache left over from Greasy going through his mind. That was about an hour and a half ago. It hadn't really helped. He contemplated taking some more. He really needed this headache to go away. But more aspirin would be a very bad thing if he got shot that day. Too much aspirin would interfere with clotting. So really it all depended on whether he thought he'd be shot in the next few hours. He decided he would risk it.

He swallowed the pills without water and then picked up his pen. Greasy was causing them an ungodly amount of paperwork. He was beginning to wish they had just let the FBI take him three days ago when the opportunity presented itself. Now O'Neill had to get approvals for the new pile of medical expenses in addition to approvals to keep another prisoner on the base.

If that wasn't bad enough, the situation with the missing rebel Jaffa was not improving either; still no contact and the Prometheus was just now getting ready to leave orbit. It would be bad enough if it were just Bre'tac and Rya'c missing. They were all Teal'c had in the way of family, but Harry was M.I.A. as well, and he wasn't supposed to be anywhere near the "A" to begin with. O'Neill was about to put pen to paper when an alarm went off and his phone simultaneously began to ring.

"What is it, Walter?"

"Telemetry from NORAD, sir. They've picked up a large incoming object just passing through the asteroid belt outside Mars. Dimensions match that of Go'auld mother ship."

"Crap, dial the alpha site. Full alert. Lock down the base."

Walter hung up. O'Neill hung up his black phone and grabbed up his red phone.

* * *

"Are they there yet?"

"No sir," said Sgt. Walter, sounding more than a little annoyed.

O'Neill didn't blame him. He found himself acting not unlike an annoying eight-year-old in the back of the family car. He half expected Walter to threaten to turn this ship around and go straight home if he didn't keep it down. The Prometheus had launched to check out the Goa'uld craft, which had come to a relative stop just outside the orbit of the moon. They had more then a few telescopes pointed at it, but the imaging wasn't terribly clear.

They'd called the Asgard for help and gotten the answering machine. This probably meant the little gray guys were up to their armpits in replicators, and too busy defending their home galaxy to worry about little old Earth. They'd called the Tok'ra and gotten an answering machine as well. This was probably because the Tok'ra were big jerks who only answered communications when they wanted something from Earth.

They had a few fuzzy pictures of the craft taken by orbital telescopes. Externally the ship seemed to be in good shape, but it was moving toward Earth at a crawl. Though the pictures couldn't really tell what was going on inside the ship, they had been able to identify some of the markings on the pyramid-shaped spacecraft. It was Ba'al's command ship.

All attempts at communication with the ship had failed. No one had told them to surrender or die. It could be a good thing, O'Neill supposed--maybe they weren't there for a fight. Of course the alternative was that surrender was not an option, and the snakehead in orbit was pretty much settled on killing them all. And all they could do was watch a little green dot, move toward a big red dot on the monitors.

"Are they there yet?"

"No, Sir," Walter said through clenched teeth.

O'Neill picked up the phone and called secure room three. He'd sent Carter and Teal'c to interrogate the prisoner while they waited for the Prometheus to report in. Teal'c had wanted to accompany the ship, in case there was a battle. O'Neill hadn't wanted him on the ship for the same reason. The Prometheus picking a fight with a Goa'uld mother ship was equivalent to a Pomeranian picking a fight with a Kodiak bear. If things turned out for the worse all the Prometheus could do is run for help. The big problem was there really wasn't anywhere else for them to go.

Carter answered the phone after three rings.

* * *

"Sir?"

Snape watched more and more annoyed as the muggle woman, Carter, spoke into the receiver. They'd been asking him fairly pointless questions for the past few hours. He had tried to get some information on his own, but the women avoided eye contact and the man, Teal'c was still completely immune to Legilimency.

"Are they there yet sir? Yes sir. No sir. No sir. Yes sir."

Whatever news the muggles had received had them all on edge, and the flashing red lights and warning klaxons cancelled out every assurance he received that everything was "under control".

"I demand to know what's going on," Snape said.

"A training exercise," said Teal'c, the gold mark on his forehead catching the glaring fluorescent light. "It does not concern you."

"Since you are lying and this base is under some sort of attack, it does indeed concern me. I demand you return my wand and release me."

Teal'c raised an eyebrow.

"Sir? Yes sir. They are sir. We'll be right there sir," Carter said, putting the phone back in its cradle.

"They've docked. The General wants us in the briefing room," she said.

They both headed for the door.

"And what am I to do?"

"We'll have someone get you some coffee," Carter said.

Snape thought she was smirking a bit too hard. Then they were gone and he was left in the bare concrete room. He knew the werewolf was locked up only a few rooms away. As he was escorted through the halls Lupin had called out "Hello Severus" from behind one of the hundreds of indistinguishable doors. They'd sat him down in a chair and asked him questions, which he hadn't answered. And now here he was. Here he was. He tapped his fingers on the table.

* * *

They'd funneled the transmission from the Prometheus into the SGC briefing room. Their suspicions had been raised when communication was lost for nearly fifteen minutes. Now they all sat around, hardly daring to believe their ears

"They couldn't get the communication systems working. In the battle for the bridge they beat the hell out this ship. Frankly sir I'm surprised they managed to limp into the solar system. It will take months to repair," Colonel Williams, the temporary captain of the Prometheus said.

"But it's not full of crunchy snakehead surprises?" O'Neill asked.

"No sir. The free Jaffa managed to override the computer systems. The self-destruct has been shut down."

"Well this is amazingly good news. Where's the but?"

Colonel Williams frowned. "Master Bre'tac was involved in an accident, sir. He was doing something in the engine room, we aren't entirely sure what, but there was some sort of booby trap…"

O'Neill felt Teal'c leaning in over the top of the screen. He knew they were both praying to keep three specific words from tumbling out of the Colonel's mouth.

"…he's been badly injured sir. The ship had a sarcophagus but it was damaged along with most of the other systems in the battle. He's in bad shape sir. Doctor Leonard can't do anything for him, and she says we can't move him. He's in and out, but she says he doesn't have more then a few hours."

"You're sure the ship is secure."

"I am sir."

"We're coming up."

* * *

Snape started down into the murky brown surface of the beverage. He hadn't tried to drink any of it, of course. The smell was more then enough to turn his stomach sour. He'd read the newspaper they'd given him several times over. He looked back into the coffee. He wondered if it had any of the Hag's Wine in it. He hadn't been able to get into anyone's dreams for the last few weeks, so he'd assumed they'd either run out of or stopped using the batch he'd altered. Dust motes were collecting on the surface of the liquid and he was about to give it a stir when he noticed something strange about the reflection in the dark liquid. It wasn't him.

"What are you doing here, Severus?" asked a faint and distorted voice.

The reflection spell in most cases could only be done on mirrors or very pure water. He was more then a little impressed that Lupin had gotten it to work on something as mystically contaminating as coffee. Of course he'd never admit that.

"What do you think I'm doing here? I came to retrieve your fool self from the muggles."

"And how does your being locked in a cell at the other end of the hall come into play here? They took your wand, I suppose?"

Snape gritted his teeth. "Actually I was on my way here when I ran into someone I used to work with. The muggle authorities found me after I'd nearly drowned in my own blood. All of your disapparating must have set off one of their locator spells."

Lupin sighed into the surface of his drink, disrupting the connection for several seconds. "And I suppose you were captured coming to warn me?"

Snape snorted. "Hardly. If someone is going to put you out of the world's misery I am most definitely first in line."

Lupin had the audacity to look put-upon.

"I don't suppose you know what's got the muggles in such a state?" Snape asked.

Lupin shook his head. "This place reeks of fear and nervous tension though. I keep hearing them say something has come into orbit. I suppose it could be an asteroid of some sort."

"The International Astrology Society would have sent out a global warning if anything really dangerous was headed toward the planet," Snape said.

"I've also heard the word Goa'uld mentioned several times. Something about Goa'uld ships. Is Goa'uld some sort of slang for Russian?"

"How would I know that?"

Snape glared into the coffee. This bickering wasn't particularly helpful, but was more entertaining than the crossword.

* * *

The X302's had been ready to scramble ever since the Goa'uld craft was spotted, so as soon as Teal'c and O'Neill stepped onto the asphalt at Edwards, there was a ship ready to go. Originally O'Neill had wanted to use the Asgard beam system on the Prometheus to transport them aboard instantly, but they were out of range and he didn't want to order the ship to leave the Goa'uld craft. It had taken an hour and a half to get to the base and it would be another half an hour flight time before they reached the Prometheus. He'd called back to the SGC every twenty minutes or so, but the situation remained unchanged.

O'Neill rubbed at his face as they taxied out of the hanger. Teal'c was lead pilot on this one, so all he really had to do was sit in the back seat and worry. O'Neill had called in all the influence and favors he had to get permission to leave the base. The SGC was going to be under the temporary command of General Briggs until he got back. He knew it looked bad to leave his post, even with permission for something that amounted to a personal reason, but he'd argued that Bre'tac had fought with them against the Goa'uld for eight years and he deserved a show of respect if he was on his way out.

Carter and Daniel had wanted to come to, but Briggs had put his foot down. He needed Carter to explain the Goa'uld technical data they were receiving from the captured ship and Daniel to translate the incoming code, to check for more booby traps and other ominous things.

"Flight one, you are clear for take off."

"Confirmed command, Flight one-"

O'Neill was pressed backward into his seat as Teal'c cranked the engines. The small triangular craft shot down the runway. Teal'c hit the main engines almost the second they were off the tarmac and O'Neill was pushed even further into his seat. They were burning fuel way too fast and way too early. They wouldn't be able to fly this X302 back to Earth. At this rate they'd have to leave it parked on the Prometheus and wait for it to be carried down. He kept his mouth shut, though.

The whole flight he kept his mouth shut. There was nothing that could be said. A friend and fellow warrior was dying and there wasn't anything they could do but keep him company. There were no words to make it easier. There was only solidarity.

They burned their way up out of the blue mist of the atmosphere into the black starry backdrop of space. Teal'c adjusted course with a tight turn, and they shot towards the Prometheus. It came in view, rapidly expanding from two pinpoints of light into two ships, one dwarfing the other. They slowed and landed neatly in the Prometheus' hanger.

Teal'c was pulling off his helmet and mask even before the green light for atmosphere came on. The flight crew rushed over to help them pull open the cockpit. Teal'c was out even before the glass and titanium frame was even lifted, and O'Neill was forced to run to keep up with them. Colonel Williams met them in the corridor outside.

"We have the first reports ready for you, sir. Not only is this a Goa'uld mother ship, it was Ba'al's mother ship."

O'Neill missed a step as he processed the information.

"And where do you think Ba'al went without his ship?" O'Neill asked.

"According to the Rebels, he's dead sir. The boy, Harry Potter killed him."

O'Neill nearly tripped over his own jogging feet as he heard that. Teal'c was getting further and further ahead of them.

"The boy was captured and somehow managed to blow something up in the room Ba'al was interrogating him in."

They reached the ring room and O'Neill had to dive onto the platform. Teal'c had already activated them. There was a bright flash of light and the Prometheus vanished.

The first thing O'Neill noticed out of place in the Goa'uld ring room was the 9mm pressed against the base of his skull.

"Is there something wrong, lieutenant?" he asked.

If there was one thing he hated more then being threatened with a gun, it was being pistol-whipped with one. Of course if there were two things he hated more then being threatened, being shot with a gun was definitely up there. It probably would have been first actually, but his head was still ringing from being pistol-whipped and he was having trouble putting things in order.

O'Neill had fallen to his knees and was struggling to get up when he heard a zat fired behind him. He ducked but the shot hadn't been at him. There was dull thud as Teal'c fell to the floor beside him. He turned and saw Rya'c, Teal'c's son, now pointing the zat at him.

"Get to your feet," Rya'c growled.

The lieutenant nodded and raised the 9mm to reinforce the order. They cuffed O'Neill's hands behind his back. Several airmen from the Prometheus were dragging Teal'c away, but O'Neill really wasn't in a position to do anything about it. Rya'c shoved him, and they started walking. They passed several corridors with very noticeable structural damage. Some places looked as if the walls had literally melted. In one it looked as if they were cutting people out of the walls. O'Neill tried to slow down and watch but Rya'c hit him again.

"You know I am seriously considering taking back the toaster I gave you and what's-her-name at your wedding," O'Neill said.

Rya'c didn't respond.

They got to another ring transporter and he was shoved inside. There was a glaring light and loud whirring as it activated. He blinked, trying to clear his eyes. They came out on the peltak, the equivalent of the bridge, which in standard Goa'uld fashion was decked out like a throne room designed by the artist formerly known as Prince. Was that guy still using that weird ankh symbol? O'Neill couldn't recall. His headache was getting worse. He looked around, gaze finally settling on the figure in the ornate throne-like command chair. His mouth dropped open, but he couldn't find words. It wasn't a problem for the Goa'uld.

"Here we are once again, O'Neill. This time you will not escape."

The deep voice echoed around the room. His headache suddenly seemed insignificant compared to the tight feeling in his chest. The kid stood up from the throne and walked slowly down from the dais. He wore a long black and gold robe that was at least six sizes too big for him, and the fabric made a scratching sound as it trailed across the floor. It looked as if an attempt had been made to organize the kid's bird-nest like hair with massive amounts of gel and still failed. It might have been funny if it wasn't so horrifying. The boy once called Harry stopped in front of him. An eerie orange light flashed in his eyes.

"You will kneel before your god, Ba'al."


	19. Last Will

**Author's note:** As with all the previous chapters, I apologize for the rate of updates. Also people were asking what the N.A.W.C. was. It's the North American Wizard's Counsel.

**Crumpets Aren't My Style**

**By Marz**

**Last Will and Testament**

"What did you get for Bill?"

"Hu?"

Ron Weasley looked up from the box he was wrapping. He'd tied his thumbs into the ribbon the five previous times he had tried to attach it. Hermione watched him with a nervous expression.

"It's a Watch-chain," Ron mumbled.

"Oh. I've read about those," she said.

She set down her scissors and paper and stepped across the cluttered floor towards him. She was careful not to make any noise. That morning they'd been chewed out for talking too loudly by the Order members in the study next door.

They'd been let out of school early for Christmas break. No one was really interested in classwork, neither the students nor the teachers. So now they and several other students were spending the holidays at 12 Grimmauld Place, with two dozen Order members as well.

Hermione took the box from Ron and looked at the chain inside.

"The muggles have something like this, but they use fiberoptic cables and a camera."

Ron nodded. "Bill needs it. He needs to watch his back or he'll end up like-"

He cut himself off. His face screwed up and Hermione tensed, unsure if he was going to rage or cry.

**THUD!**

The outburst, whatever its intended form, aborted as the explosion rattled the room. There were pounding feet up the hallway and the door slammed open.

"I told you kids to knock off that racket!" shouted Rudolf Cook, one of the Order's newly recruited alchemists.

Hermione glared. "It wasn't-"

**THUD! THUD! THUD!**

Something fell over and shattered in the kitchen.

"What the hell?" Cook said.

They ran across the hall to the other room and peered out its slightly fogged windows. All they could see were the houses across the street. Muggles were stopping their cars and getting out to look up at the sky.

**THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD!**

It didn't stop and the whole house shuddered.

"The roof!" Ron shouted in Hermione's ear.

They left Cook and ran up the steps, and then climbed the ladder to the attic. Ginny was already there. She pushed open the trap door and slid out onto the roof.

"Oh Merlin!"

Ron and Hermione slapped at her feet until Ginny got out of the way, then they climbed out as well.

The sky was burning.

Fire was raining down on the center of London, no more than five miles away. Clouds of ash and smoke were already blowing towards them. Hermione slapped at an ember that landed in her hair.

"What is it?" Ron shouted, barely audible over the resounding explosions.

"Meteors?" Ginny said, eyeing the sky overhead.

"Meteors don't aim," Hermione said as another fireball sailed passed them, toward the burning center of the city.

* * *

This was bad. O'Neill knew it was the understatement of the century, but he was a little too close to panic to come up with better adjectives. He lay on the wall barely able to breathe because the gravity was turned up so high. Of course Ba'al's flagship would have alternate gravity panels installed. No economy model for Ba'al's transport, no sir. He even had a few on the ceiling, though what you could do with a gravity panel on the ceiling was lost on him.

"You will answer me," Ba'al said from his chair on the other side of the room.

He had a whole collection of pointy objects laid out on a low table before him, and bottles that O'Neill most definitely did not want to know about.

"Could you repeat the question?" O'Neill said, trying to sit up. "The A.D.D is acting up again."

Ba'al sneered. The expression just didn't look right on the kid's face. It occurred to O'Neill then that with the kid's firsthand knowledge of Earth culture, Ba'al probably would understand almost all of his obscure cultural references. Though whether the Goa'uld understanding more of his insults was a good or bad thing was still up in the air.

"You will describe to me the Ancient city buried in the ice on the southernmost continent of your planet."

"Or?" O'Neill asked.

"Or?" Ba'al repeated.

"Yeah, you know. Tell me what I want to know or I'll…something or other."

The Goa'uld laughed. "There is no 'or' in this situation, human. You will give me the information I desire, and then I will kill you."

"I think you need to repeat a few classes in evil villain school. You're missing the point of this whole torturing people for information thing."

Ba'al's hand hovered over the table, picking over an assortment of knives. For half a second O'Neill felt relief as Ba'al's hand passed over the sharpened bits of metal and came away empty. He raised his hand toward O'Neill and the General was half tempted to point out to the jumped-up tapeworm that he was wearing his ribbon device, the Goa'uld weapon of choice, on his other hand. Then the light came at him.

"Crucio."

When he could breathe again the kid was just looking at him. For a moment O'Neill thought he saw some expression of regret in the boy's face but then it was gone. The Goa'uld turned and went to a keyboard that slid out of the opposite wall. He waved his hand over it. As a holographic view screen lit up along the wall, O'Neill wondered why the Goa'uld would bother building the keyboard if all they had to do was wave over it to make it work.

_Focus._

The hologram flickered for a moment, zooming in from a distant view of Earth to a close-up view of Europe. He could see the fires in England. He wondered if there was anything of London left. As O'Neill watched, more lumps of burning plasma rained down.

"It occurred to me that perhaps you are right. It is difficult to get your species to do anything without some sort of motivation, and you have proved to be annoyingly in denial regarding the agony you will soon be experiencing. Here is your 'or'. You will give me the information I seek regarding the Ancient technology or I will burn all the rural communities from the face of your planet, as well as the cities."

Ba'al touched the panel. The view changed. O'Neill couldn't tell what country it was. The kids all wore blue skirts or pants and blue sweaters. Fire rained down in the distance as their teachers desperately tried to chase them back into the school buildings behind them.

"There is no reason for me to destroy these creatures," Ba'al began. "They will make suitable hosts in a few years. But you demanded your 'or'."

O'Neill swallowed as a million different lies, excuses, and other insufficient responses whirled through his mind. Ba'al glared at him, a faint smirk playing across his face. O'Neill considered simply not answering. If he said nothing, if he shut it all out, maybe the horrible situation would just pass on. He knew it wouldn't. He opened his mouth to speak and the ship shuddered. Ba'al turned sharply, hands flying across the keyboard, images projected in the hologram changing equally rapidly. O'Neill couldn't read Goa'uld very well, and certainly not fast enough to understand all the warnings that Ba'al was glaring at. But a diagram popped up that he didn't need words to understand. An overlay of the power systems appeared and multiple areas were flashing red. The weapons systems were overloading.

"Crossed wires?" O'Neill asked.

The Goa'uld's shoulders stiffened, but he didn't turn from the controls.

"You know, for a god you're pretty incompetent."

Ba'al slammed a hand down on the keyboard and another warning light came up.

"Wrong button?"

The Goa'uld turned then and O'Neill suddenly thought that perhaps antagonizing him was not a good idea. Ba'al waved a hand at the table, and every pointy object came sailing at O'Neill.

_Definitely not a good idea._

* * *

"Report, Colonel Carter."

"The Goa'uld craft has ceased fire, and moved into a higher orbit. As it was moving past the Holland observation satellite, they were able to collect this data."

Carter leaned over her laptop and brought up the next screen. Briggs was watching her every move, as if he was about to catch her lying. The other officers just sat, blank-faced. She didn't know most of them. The only friendly face at the table was Major Davis, and he was looking rather green, to be honest.

"The ship was emitting huge amounts of infrared radiation from these areas," she explained, slashing the projection with her laser pointer. "From the ship schematics we have on file from the Tok'ra, I believe this indicates an overload in the power relays, specifically those leading to the ship's plasma cannons. I don't think the Goa'uld stopped after these three targets because he wanted to. I think his ship was about to blow up."

There was a short pause as the rest of the room considered what she had told them. They were still struggling to understand why any Goa'uld would start an invasion by taking out London, Little Hangleton, and an abandon castle in a remote area of Scotland. Carter looked toward the door.

Daniel was standing just inside it, next to the guards. He hadn't been offered a chair, or even been invited in, but SG1's archeologist could be something of a tick at times. You'd have to burn him with cigarette to get him to go away, and even then he'd leave some little irritating something under your skin to nag you. He gave Carter a look and she nodded back. They both knew what the connection might be. There were two strangely dressed men in the cells on level twenty to back it up. The Goa'uld attack had something to do with the boy, Harry. Now they had to figure out what that something was.

"Does this overload mean the Goa'uld craft is now vulnerable to attack, Colonel?" asked Colonel Emmett.

"No. The satellite also picked up gamma radiation being reflected away from the craft, indicating its shields are still up."

"Could we outfit the remaining X302's with hyperspace generators, to punch through the shields as you and Colonel O'Neill did with Anubis' ship?" asked General Mayhew.

"Area 51 is working on it sir, but it will take a week at least to outfit even one squadron," she said.

"And the Ancient outpost in Antarctica?" Mayhew pressed.

"The ZPM we had was completely drained and General O'Neill was the only one who could run it with any accuracy, and even then only after he had the knowledge of the Ancients downloaded into his brain."

"Why did he have the information removed?" asked Emmett asked.

"Because his head was going to explode," Major Davis said. "You were given a memo."

The two men glared at each other.

"So there is nothing we can do about the Goa'uld?" Briggs asked, interrupting.

"At the moment I don't have enough information to answer that question, sir."

He nodded and she sat down. Major Davis stood.

"The last transmission we received from the Prometheus confirmed that General O'Neill and Teal'c had arrived safely on board. We observed the activation of a ring transport device, after which time all direct communication ceased. The Prometheus remained inactive when the Goa'uld ship moved in on Earth. Though we were unable to hail them we did intercept several transmissions on the ship's secure channel, which we have the encryption keys for."

_"-zzzt you will remain in orbit until summoned."_

_"Yes my lord."_

_"Do not answer any communications from the Tauri. Fire on any approaching vessel but this one. You will receive further orders in one hour."_

_"Yes my lord."_

"We've identified the second voice in the communiqué as Colonel Williams. We're assuming a large portion of the Prometheus' crew is under some sort of Goa'uld mind control, since Colonel Williams is an upstanding officer."

"And who is the Goa'uld?" asked Briggs.

"At this point we aren't certain, but we suspect it is Ba'al. The writing on the ship indicates it is Ba'al's. If another Goa'uld had captured the ship they would immediate write their name on it, an ego thing. We have Ba'al's voice on record from messages he sent attempting to convince General O'Neill that he had SG1 hostage, and this does not match. It could mean he has taken a new host. We are attempting to use a computer program to account for the distortion a Goa'uld symbiote causes in its host's voice, but we've had very little success."

"And the current position of the Prometheus?" Briggs asked.

"At this moment it is in orbit 700 miles above Cheyenne Mountain."

"Threat assessment?"

"As you know, sir, the Prometheus is not equipped with weapons of mass destruction. Its missile systems are not designed to take out targets on the ground. If the ship were to fire on a city, the missiles would burn up in the atmosphere and damage would be very minimal. Even if the ship were to crash into a target on a suicide run, The President has been moved to a secure location, and Congress will not be in session until this crisis is resolved. He won't be able to do any major damage to the military using the Prometheus, but if he crashes it into a population center like New York or L.A. there will be thousands of casualties."

Briggs nodded and Davis returned to his seat.

"What can we do about this?" Briggs asked those seated around the table.

"Our best hope at the moment is to call in a favor from our offworld allies," Carter said. "But judging from the response we got to our request for help with PX499, we can't expect them from the Tok'ra any time soon. With permission, sir, I'd like to send a team through the gate to Hibernia. Though their government doesn't have any official military alliance with earth, Warik Fin might be willing to lend us the Cerberus, and it's large enough to put a bit of a scare into a Goa'uld with no weapons system."

"Would such a ship be able to reach Earth before the Goa'uld gets its weapons back up and running?" Briggs asked.

"Since we don't know what's wrong, we have no way of knowing how long it will take them to fix it. At their maximum speed it will take a Hibernian ship almost a week to reach Earth, but at the moment they are our best bet. The sooner a team leaves, the better."

Briggs nodded. "Any other suggestions?"

"I have one," Daniel said, stepping away from the wall.

Briggs looked mildly annoyed, but nodded for him to continue.

"We have two prisoners on the base right now, and though we don't know the exact nature of their abilities, they seem to have some kind of instantaneous transportation technology."

"Any you believe these men, who claim to be wizards according to the report I received, are willing to give this technology to us?"

Daniel shrugged. "It couldn't hurt to ask."

Briggs glared at Daniel. He opened his mouth to speak but a flash of white light through the conference room window stole his words. All of the officers hurried to the window to look down through the bulletproof glass that separated them from the gate room. Sirens and red lights began to flash. Someone had just used Asgard beam technology to steal the Stargate.

"Not again," Daniel muttered.

"But that's not possible," Carter said. "The system the Asgard installed requires a broadcast locator signal. It can't pick out targets without one. We just had the gate-"

There was another blinding flash of white light, this time in the briefing room.

"Sam?" Daniel called.

His eyes drifted to the closed door and he found himself bending to look under the conference table. She was gone.

* * *

"You will search every single crystal for the source for the error."

They all bowed. All except for Lt. Hays, but since he was dead with his brains all scrambled and pouring out his ears, the Goa'uld apparently didn't hold it against him. Dr. Novak stepped over the body and scurried to check the crystals, as ordered. She'd already disposed of the ones she'd sabotaged but had to keep up the appearance of a busy little zombie.

She didn't see the point in killing Hays, since he was as brainwashed as the rest of them. Of course she didn't get the whole brainwashed thing either, which she thought could explain why it hadn't worked on her.

For the first few minutes after she'd been dragged in front of the Goa'uld and had a hand waved over her head she'd felt as if she'd consumed far more then the recommended dosage of Nyquil, and she'd had a weird desire to help the Goa'uld conquer earth, but that feeling had vanished halfway through her first "Yes, my Lord."

She'd looked around, watched the other members of the crew for signs that they'd come out of it too, but they only wandered about with the same glassy expression, repairing the damaged Goa'uld mother ship. She thought some people must have come out of whatever it was, since she had, but she hadn't yet come across any. She thought it would be the world's biggest irony if the entire crew was faking it and everyone was too scared to say anything.

Novak knelt down and opened a panel. All the crystals were fine but she took them out, checking each for cracks as she felt eyes boring into the back of her head. She was sure the Goa'uld was watching her. She couldn't turn around.

She'd meant to blow the whole thing up. The feedback loop she'd created should have vaporized half the ship, but the Goa'uld had been monitoring the systems too closely. He'd managed to bleed off the excess power with only minimal damage to the weapons system. It would be up and running again in less then a day unless she found another way to break it.

The Goa'uld stepped closer, overshadowing her and making it impossible to keep working. She paused trying to keep her hand from shaking. She waited for him to say something.

"You have discovered something?" he asked.

_He's not very big. I can probably take him down._

But there were guards in the room and the ribbon device was very close to her head.

"Not yet, my Lord," she said.

"When you have finished with this relay you will reroute sufficient power to my personal chambers to operate the sarcophagus."

"Yes, my Lord."

He turned then and motioned to the guards. They walked out, leaving Hays on the floor. Novak let out a startled hic-up as the door closed behind them. If not Hays, then who was being raised from the dead?

* * *

Lupin sat on the concrete floor of his cell, picking at the unevenly stamped rubber treads of the sandals they had given him. He seemed utterly absorbed in that activity, and didn't even turn towards Snape as he spoke.

"Colonel Carter has left the base. The air smells burned, but not."

Snape rolled his eyes and shifted slightly on his bunk. Eight feet of floor and two sets of steel bars separated them, but Snape was still tempted to lunge at him.

"And that completely inane comment helps us how?"

"Whatever has the muggles so terrified…it's getting closer. They're getting ready for a fight and they don't think they can win it," Lupin said, still busy with his footwear.

"And that helps us how?" Snape repeated.

"They'll ask for our help soon," Lupin said quietly. "They think the world is coming to an end."

"Muggles always think the sky is falling."

"They may be right."

Snape stood angrily. "I've had enough of your paranoia, and ill-conceived plans. I am at the end of my patience. You said you had a wand. Make use of it!"

Lupin looked up from his sandal and was about to speak when the air split with a resounding bang.

A house elf stood in the narrow aisle between their cells. Instead of being wrapped in a tea towel or some other symbol of servitude, the elf wore a perfectly fitted muggle business suit.

"I am Bob," the creature announced.

"Hello, Bob," said Lupin.

The elf turned towards him and bowed. "Hello, unregistered werewolf and Severus Snape from the International Death Eater Watch List. I, Bob am here to deliver a message. The Department of Miracles would have sent a human representative, but no witch or wizard is allowed within forty miles of this base, under N.A.W.C. legal code 415883b, regarding the second prophecy of Albourne the All Knowing, in 1841."

"What?" Snape and Lupin asked together.

"By coming here you have violated N.A.W.C. legal code 415883b. The penalty for such a crime is eternal imprisonment in a Wizard's Globe," the elf explained.

Rather then locking up lawbreakers in a prison, the American wizards shrunk the offender and sealed them up in Magic-proof glass balls. They were sometimes sold as paperweights to the people they had wronged. If no one wanted them, they were left in the care of a Warden. The Muggles had even copied them after a fashion, though rather then putting felons in glass domes they tended to put miniatures of Father Christmas and fake snow. It was a rather archaic form of punishment. Wizards in Europe considered it demeaning and cruel. Of course Snape thought it was much preferable to being locked up in a freezing cell with a pack of Dementors. Still, he wasn't going to go without a fight.

"And you're here to enforce this ruling?" Snape asked.

Lupin's hand was hovering above his forearm, probably intending to bring forth his wand from wherever he had hidden it. Idly Snape wondered which one was quicker on the draw. The elf shook its head.

"I, Bob am authorized only to deliver messages, since I, Bob am not human, and am therefore exempt from N.A.W.C. legal code 415883b."

"So the N.A.W.C. will not be sending Aurors in to arrest us?" Snape asked.

"No, they will take you into custody as soon as you exit from this forbidden ground. Please make your way out as soon as possible," the elf said.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "So if we do not leave on our own no one will come in to get us?"

"You can not stay here," Bob said slowly, as if they were both incredibly stupid. "This is a forbidden area."

"Why is it forbidden?" Lupin asked.

The elf looked scandalized. "Because of Albourne's second prophesy; the warning not to interfere with the Ascended."

"I've never heard of it," Snape said.

The elf ducked slightly and began to whisper. "Omah will choose her successor from these people. We are forbidden to interfere!"

Snape rolled his eyes. The N.A.W.C. was always making some ridiculous law based on a mad prophet. In this case at least, it seemed to be shielding them from arrest.

"Who is Omah?" asked Lupin.

The elf began to bounce back and forth on tiny feet. "Not so loud!" it hissed.

"Why not?" Snape asked.

"They will hear!"

"But who is-"

Lupin's question was cut off as the door swung open and Daniel Jackson stepped in. He looked rather surprised at spotting an elf in his path. His mild consternation was nothing compared to the elf's reaction. It shrieked, threw itself to the floor and groveled.

"Sir! I, Bob did not mean to interfere. I, Bob was only carrying out the orders given to me by the N.A.W.C. I did not speak to any muggles!"

"Oh," Jackson said. "I'm sure that's fine then."

"So you may report to Omah that we did not interfere. We have kept out agreement," the elf persisted.

"OK." Jackson said. "I'll tell her the next time I see her. Just refresh my memory. What agreement?"

The elf looked shocked and then looked at the door. It had swung shut after Jackson had stepped through.

"You opened the door?" the elf said.

Jackson nodded. The elf crept toward him slowly. It reached out a trembling hand and tapped Jackson's shin, then darted back across the room, eyes bulging.

"But…but…you Ascended!" the elf said.

"I came back," Jackson replied.

The elf shrieked and vanished in a wisp of smoke.

"Well that was…odd," Jackson said. "Either of you want to tell me what that was about?" he asked the prisoners.

Lupin shrugged. "I have no idea really. I always feel as if I know less than I did before, after speaking to an elf."

Jackson shrugged and then sighed. "I guess it doesn't really matter at the moment." He looked at both of them, trying to look dire. Snape thought he succeeded in looking as if he had to sneeze.

"I suppose you've already figured out something is going on," Jackson said.

"The sky if falling," muttered Snape.

"Some of it," Jackson said, frowning. He sighed again. "I don't know what you know, and I don't have the authority or the clearance to tell you this," he said, throwing a sidelong glance at Lupin, "But you offered to help and we definitely need it. Nine hours ago a Goa'uld Mothership entered the solar system. It captured our only battle-ready ship and took up orbit over England, proceeding to bombard three specific sites. The residual radiation was minimal, but all three target sites were completely destroyed."

"What were the targets?" Snape asked.

"A six-block area in Central London, the entire town of Little Hangleton and some of Greater Hangleton as well and an abandon castle in Northern Scotland. The ship then moved into a higher orbit. They used the ship they captured from us to attack this base."

"And this concerns us how?" Snape asked.

"We intercepted a communication from the ship that suggests the crew has somehow been pressed into the Goa'uld's service."

"All that is heartbreaking, I'm sure," Snape said. "But what does it have to do with us?"

Jackson reached into his pocket and drew out a small black plastic box. He pressed one of the buttons on the side. For a moment it filled the room with buzzing static.

_"-zzzt you will remain in orbit until summoned."_

_"Yes my lord."_

_"Do not answer any communications from the Tauri. Fire on any approaching vessel but this one. You will receive further orders in one hour."_

_"Yes my lord."_

Jackson hit the button again and the voices stopped.

"I repeat," Snape said boredly, "What does that have to do with us?"

It was bad enough the muggles were keeping them locked up in a windowless cellar, now they expected them to participate in some sort of military action based on-

Lupin getting to his feet and nearly falling over broke up his train of thoughts. He was looking from Snape to Jackson with an expression of uncompromising horror on his washed-out features.

"That voice…"

"The first voice was the captain of our ship and the other the Goa'uld," Jackson explained.

"The second voice," Lupin said. "That second voice was Harry."

* * *

Teal'c leaned down and shook her shoulder.

"Colonel Carter? You must wake up."

She groaned.

"Colonel Carter, has Ba'al taken control of the SGC?"

Her eyes popped open and she sat up with a start.

"The Naquadah!" she shouted.

Teal'c leaned back as she looked around and got her bearings. They were in a large holding cell in the center of the ship, so there was not all that much to see. Her eyes drifted over the other prisoners in the room; several rebel Jaffa and a few humans in blue jumpsuits.

"Has Stargate command fallen to the Goa'uld?" Teal'c asked again.

"N-no. They…is it hot in here? They used the Prometheus' Asgard transport system. They grabbed the Gate. I landed in the cargo hold. Other things were appearing. Parts of the subspace communication system, zats and staff weapons from the armory. I couldn't figure out how they were targeting without a broadcast signal. The Goa'uld must have rigged up the sensors to target everything with Naquadah in it. Major Lewis shot me with a zat," she finished in a rush.

Teal'c nodded.

"Ba'al has used some sort of mind control to subvert the majority of the Prometheus crew and the Rebel Jaffa who had initially captured his ship."

"It is Ba'al?" she asked climbing to her feet. "We intercepted a communication, but the voice was different."

"He has taken a new host."

Carter's face lost all its color and she looked over all the humans again. "Not...!"

Teal'c shook his head. "I have not seen General O'Neill since we were attacked in the ring room. I do know he is not Ba'al's host."

"Then who?"

"He has taken the boy," called a familiar voice from across the room.

Carter and Teal'c both turned. Master Bre'tac was slowly getting to his feet. His faced was bruised and his clothing scorched but he was very much alive. Teal'c had seen him earlier, but he had not awoken until that moment.

"We thought the boy had killed Ba'al," Bre'tac said. "There was a dead symbiote next to the corpse, but there must have been two of them."

Teal'c took a step towards the older man. He approached them unsteadily and his eyes were unusually bright. Teal'c was not surprised. According to the other prisoners, Bre'tac had tried twice to escape before his arrival, and been struck on the head during both attempts.

"The things he does now," Bre'tac said, leaning absentmindedly against Carter's shoulder as he spoke, "they are not Goa'uld technology. It is something he has learned from his host. The boy is a wizard, and the cat, she is a witch. I think he has harmed her."

"Master Bre'tac?" Carter asked. "Do you want to sit down?"

He shook his head and almost tipped over.

"We must find a way to retake the ship. He will harm her."

Carter looked to Teal'c but he didn't know who Bre'tac was referring to, either. They were about to question Bre'tac further when his eyes rolled back into his head. Carter stumbled a bit under his weight, and Teal'c helped her set the older man on the floor.

"Is there any way out of here?" Carter asked Teal'c.

"We have found nothing in our searches."

"We have to get out of here," Carter said. "General O'Neill might be...might be…dead."

"If that is the case," Teal'c said, "I doubt Ba'al will allow him to remain so for long."

Carter did not look comforted.


	20. Grasping at Straws

**Author's note:** Did anybody else just finish book six? Oye! Well here is my next chapter. Remember to review!

**Crumpets Aren't My Style**

**By Marz**

**Grasping at Straws**

He turned his face away from the light.

"Do you really think that will make any difference?"

The rumbling echoing voice was not the kid's, nor was the expression, but as O'Neill opened his watering eyes to face Ba'al again, he thought he saw some ghost of the kid in the Goa'uld's slightly slouched posture.

"Do you really have to keep asking so many stupid questions?" O'Neill replied.

"Crucio."

When he could stop shaking, O'Neill glared at the creature that wore Harry like an ill fitting suit. He wondered how the Goa'uld was doing that without the stick weapon most of the so called wizards seemed to require.

"You will explain to me the nature of the Ancient Technology hidden in the Southern most continent of Earth. How does it draw power from the Zero Point Module?"

"I thought we went over the dumb question aspect of this conversation."

"Crucio."

Ba'al stopped and O'Neill struggled to come up with some sort of biting comment . But as soon as the Goa'uld lowered his right hand, he raised the left, which bore the ribbon device.

He woke up in the box; white light fading slowly from his eyes. The lid spilt open and swung away. O'Neill knew he would have to leap from the sarcophagus and make a run for it if he was to have any hope at all of escape, but he couldn't get any of his limbs to respond. Two faces appeared above the box; Al'drak and Ral't. They were both rebels from Chulak. O'Neill had even been on a few missions with them. They leaned into the sarcophagus, grabbing his arms and pulling him to his feet.

Their faces were expressionless as they dragged him through the corridors. He had trouble holding up his head and his eyes drifted across the floor. There was a trail of blood spatter on its polished surface. O'Neill wondered if it was his.

Ba'al wasn't in the room when they arrived. The Jaffa didn't seem concerned. They brought O'Neill to a spot on the floor and then pushed him forward. He staggered and tried to lean back, but the gravity panels had already caught him. He slammed into the wall and with great effort managed to roll over onto his back. The Jaffa walked stiffly to the door and stood on either side of it.

The waiting was the worse part. Not because the tension was building or because he was imagining what Ba'al might be planning for him this round. O'Neill hated the waiting because it gave his guilt a chance to eat at him. He knew this was his fault.

_General Hammond wouldn't have let things get this bad._

It always seemed to end up this way. Every time he tried to help a kid they ended up worse off then they had been, and nine times out of ten they'd get a snake in their head to boot. He didn't know why it worked out this way. Maybe he was being punished for failing his own son. He was almost relieved when Ba'al walked in, breaking up his train of thought. The Goa'uld came to a stop just a few feet away. Just out of splatter range.

He had changed his robes. They were still the shiny black and gold material he seemed to favor, but they no longer looked five sizes too large. O'Neill wondered who on board had done the alterations. On his left hand Ba'al wore the ribbon device. This close O'Neill could see Ba'al's clenched right hand clearly. The skin was reddened and there were purple lines running up his wrist under the sleeve of his robe. It looked almost as if the Goa'uld had an infection, which wasn't likely since the Goa'uld were immune to just about every disease.

"I have been considering the problem you present," Ba'al began. "You have proved immune to the new methods I have discovered for bending the will of your species. I thought back to our first meeting two years ago. It took me nearly a week to extract even the name of your symbiote."

"It wasn't my symbiote," O'Neill growled.

The Goa'uld continued talking as if he had not heard.

"Days further were wasted attempting to discover your mission. And what did all that time and effort reveal? It appeared that you had breached the security of my most secret base to steal one of my slaves. It made no sense. After you escaped I searched the base, much of which had been destroyed in Lord Yu's attack. I found nothing to explain your presents. No explanation…other than the female."

O'Neill did not like where this was heading.

"Humans are barely capable of rational thought. I suppose I should have come to this conclusion sooner."

O'Neill hadn't heard any command issued, but as if on queue two members of the Prometheus' crew marched in, dragging a third member between them. Captain Vaun was struggling against her crewmates. Her eyes were clear and focused, if a bit wide. She wasn't under the mind control Ba'al was using on everyone else O'Neill had seen so far. She looked up at him, stuck to the wall with blood all over his flight suit.

"Sir?" she asked.

O'Neill didn't know her well. They'd met a few years earlier when he was still doing all the training briefings for the X302 flight crews.

"You will explain how the Ancient technology draws power from the Zero Point Module or you will be responsible for the death of this female."

They were both staring at him. Vaun with startled brown eyes, Ba'al with pitiless green.

"I can't explain it," O'Neill said. "I don't know how it works."

"You use the technology, but you do not know how it works," Ba'al said.

"Hey! I don't know how the Stargate works either. I just press the buttons and it does."

At least it was quick. Between one blink and the next, green light flashed. Vaun was dead.

"There are seventeen other female Tauri aboard this ship. If you have not produced any useful information by the time we run out of them, there are four billion others on the planet's surface to choose from. Perhaps your primitive sense of chivalry will help you over come your memory problem before we run out of those as well."

Ba'al wave his hand and Vaun's crew mates dragged her out. The Goa'uld walked towards the throne like chair on the other side of the room. He turned, gleaming robes sweeping around him.

"Colonel Carter will be next," he announced.

"Bull! She'd still on Earth."

Ba'al smiled and sat. "Perhaps you would like to begin imedeee-"

WHUMP!

Ba'al had missed the seat of his chair by at least half a foot. O'Neill heard the kid's skull crack against the frame. For a moment he looked completely surprised. And for less then half that moment the kid's mouth quirked in what might have been a satisfied smile. Then Ba'al was back, eyes flaring orange.

O'Neill wanted desperately to comment on the Goa'uld lack of coordination, but his sense of self preservation kicked in. It didn't matter terribly much in the end.

Ba'al got back to his feet blank faced. He waved his hand at the table and a bottle sailed across the room, shattering across O'Neill's chest. The broken glass was the least of it.

* * *

"And they've agreed to help?" General Briggs asked.

Daniel nodded. He couldn't tell which way Briggs was leaning. The man was incredibly hard to read. Daniel had only met him a hand full of times. Their first meeting stood out most clearly in his mind. It was in his early days at the SGC. Briggs had made some comment to General Hammond about Daniel's then very "un militaristic" hair style.

"Yes sir. They've agreed to help. Lupin believes he can transport at least eight people up to the Prometheus. Apparently he needs visual information on the landing site and we have picture of the inside of that ship to use for targeting. I've spoken with some of the base personnel and SG3 has volunteered."

Briggs was still frowning. "And what do they want in return?"

"They came to this base looking for a missing member of their society, Harry Potter. Lupin has identified him as Ba'al's new host from the message we intercepted. He has agreed to help in exchange for our help in rescuing Harry."

Briggs leaned back in his desk, looking thoughtful. Daniel felt a surge of hope.

"So you gave the intruders classified information and breached security regarding the Goa'uld and a top secret ship?"

The little bubble of hope popped.

"I did, under the circumstances," Daniel replied.

"There are no circumstances under which treason is acceptable."

Daniel felt himself making a fist and took a calming breath.

"As a civilian it may not have occurred to you," Briggs said, "but the men in those cells could be just as dangerous as the Goa'uld in orbit above us."

"With all due respect, we know Ba'al intends to raze the planet. These people haven't asked for anything but the return of one of their own."

"And whatever they claim they need to reach the ship," Briggs put in.

"They didn't ask for anything sir," Daniel said, thinking perhaps he had a comeback. "Lupin says he can leave at any time. The only reason they didn't just come in and snatch Potter is they don't know where he is and were under orders to stay clear of us."

"And you believe that?" Briggs asked, shaking his head slightly.

"This isn't-"

"Lieutenant Bower!" Briggs called.

A very large airman stepped into the Office. General O'Neill's name was still visible on the door as it swung open.

"But-"

"Lieutenant, escort Dr. Jackson back to his office and make sure he stays there until further notice. He is not to leave the base or go near the holding cells again."

"But-"

Briggs picked up a folder and began reading it, as if they had already left.

* * *

He was aware of someone touching his forehead. It felt as if they were trying to smooth back his hair, which in its current military cut wasn't really going to go along with it. His jaw was clenched as were his fists. There were low murmuring voices in the background. He groaned. The hand disappeared from his forehead.

"O'Neill, can you hear me?" Teal'c asked.

_Funny_, he thought Teal'c would have bigger hands.

"Sir?"

_Oh, it was Carter. That makes a whole lot more sense_. He tried to talk but it was hard to get vowels past clenched teeth.

"Dn't eel o 'd," he ground out.

His brain was starting to function again. Maybe he hadn't been in the sarcophagus this time. You came out of the box feeling like a Gumby action figure that had gone sixty seconds in the microwave, none of this clenching, spasming stuff.

"I believe I heard him say Gumby," Teal'c was saying to Carter over his head.

Slowly he peeled his eyes open. His head had been hurting so badly he hadn't even noticed it was resting in Carter's lap. He looked up at her blearily. Her eyes were red rimmed and she really needed to blow her nose.

"What's goin' on?" he asked, trying to sit up.

There was an agonizing twinge in his back but he made it. He felt a draft and looked down. The front of his flight suit was largely gone. From throat to navel had simply melted away. There were a few other smaller holes in the legs and arms where the acid had splattered. The sarcophagus had repaired his chest for the most part, except all the hair was gone. He hoped all the people looking at him wouldn't think he shaved his chest or something. That would be weird.

_Focus._

"Carter, you're supposed to be on earth," O'Neill said after another bleary moment.

"I was beamed up here just after the attacks in the UK. The crew of the Prometheus was compromised and they used the Asgard transport system. I think Ba'al was able to locate me in the base because of the Naquadah in my blood stream. He took the gate too, sir."

"Oh crap."

"Indeed," Teal'c said solemnly.

"We haven't been able to find a way out the cell," Carter said.

"We?"

He looked around. The other prisoners looked back. He saw Bre'tac asleep or unconscious, stretched out on the floor a few feet away. O'Neill was very relieved the old Jaffa wasn't dead. Only a living thing could snore that loudly. There were six other Jaffa and three members of the Prometheus' crew lounging around as well.

"Alright," O'Neill said. "What else have I missed?"

So they told him, the little they knew. All those in the cell had one thing in common. Ba'al's new mind control powers didn't seem to work on them. O'Neill watched the others in the cell as Carter and Teal'c spoke to him. All the other prisoners were watching them. He wondered idly if some of them were plants. None of them looked zoned out, but the crew members on the Prometheus hadn't looked unusual when he and Teal'c had passed through. Maybe Ba'al had instructed them not to look like Zombies.

"Any idea how this mind control thing works?" O'Neill asked.

"He hasn't tried it on you, Sir?" asked Carter.

"He said he tried, but I don't remember it. He's been trying other things on me, to make up for it."

"He holds his hand over the person's head and says 'Imperio'. He came by and tried it on me a few hours ago. There's this incredible sensation, like you're floating and nothing can hurt you. It's very difficult to shake off," Carter said. "He was asking about the Ancients."

O'Neill nodded. It was probably the same thing that Voldemort guy had used on him the first time he was captured. His stomach growled. He wondered how long it had been since he'd last eaten. Thinking of time brought his mind back to Ba'al.

"I need some convincing lies Carter," he said, getting slowly to his feet. His head spun.

"About what?"

"The Ancient's technology, he keeps asking. I told him I didn't know anything and he killed Captain Vaun."

Carter looked appropriately horrified.

"And we probably don't have more then an hour to come up with something convincing."

* * *

"So I take it you did not receive the complete support of your superiors in this matter?" Snape said as the pounding on the door increased.

"Feel free to stay behind Severus," said Lupin, deflecting the question.

The sickly looking man sat on the floor, waving a little piece of wood back and forth over one of his sandals.

"You can't honestly believe you'll be able to target that portkey correctly," Snape said, latching on to his new target.

"I've done transcontinental portkeys before," Lupin replied.

"We're talking about hundreds of thousands of miles here Lupin, not just hundreds. The difference may have escaped you. I've read somewhere that dogs can't count any higher then three."

"And I said you did not have to accompany us," Lupin said through gritted teeth. "Now please stop distracting me."

Daniel fought the urge to comment. He wondered how these two had avoided killing each other in the months they had apparently spent staking out the SGC together.

He also fought the urge to sigh. Things really weren't going that well. After Briggs ordered all the SG teams not to listen to him and to report him if he tried to convince them, Daniel had had real trouble recruiting for his unsanctioned rescue mission. He looked over to Sgt. Walter and Sgt. Siler. The Stargate technicians looked very out of place in fatigues and flack jackets, but they were both trained for combat, even if they rarely used their skills.

Snape snorted and walked passed them to lurk in the corner of the crowded brig. There was another thud as the SGC guards tried blow up the door. Daniel saw the metal ripple as the bomb went off, but it was back to normal a moment later. Lupin had pointed his "wand" at the door and muttered something that sounded Latin based but it was not the language of the Ancients. After running into the elf, Daniel had begun to wonder if the wizards were somehow related to the gate builders, but the linguistics were not definitive. On the other hand they seemed to know something about Ascension, at least the "elves" did.

"What exactly is Ascension?" asked a cool voice breaking through his thoughts.

Daniel started, realizing suddenly that Snape was staring into his eyes.

"What?"

"The elf said you 'Ascended'. To what was it referring?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Daniel attempted.

"You do."

"Does this have anything to do with out current situation?" Daniel asked.

"If the North American Wizarding Counsel is going to strike me down because I have some how stumbled across it, I would like to know why. Who is Omah?"

Daniel sighed. "She's a being that…for lack of better terms, has reached enlightenment and Ascended to a higher plane of existence."

Snape sneered. "The elf said you Ascended as well. Does that mean you've also reached enlightenment?"

"Um…well no. I just died," Daniel said.

"So I'm talking to a dead man?" Snape said.

Walter shifted uncomfortably as another explosion shook the room. "Dr. Jackson's died half a dozen times at least."

"And you would have me believe muggles can raise the dead?" Snape said, turning his glare upon the tech sergeant.

Daniel butted back in. "Of course not. Extraterrestrial snakes do."

"You expect me to believe this?" Snape rolled his eyes.

"You expect us to believe a magic shoe is going to get us up to the Prometheus," Siler said, adding his two cents.

"It will," Lupin interrupted. "And it's ready," he added getting to his feet.

"What do we do?" asked Daniel, looking at the shoe suspiciously.

"Everyone put at least on finger on it," Lupin instructed.

The five men leaned in, trying not to poke each other with rifles and other gear strapped to their sides.

"3…2…1…"

It was somewhat like gate travel, except when you stepped through the gate it didn't feel as if someone had just stuck a fish hook through your navel. The feeling of motion stopped so suddenly that Daniel, Siler, and Walter lost their balance and landed in a heap in the mess hall of the Prometheus. They were up in the next instant, zats aimed. Lupin had his wand out as well, searching for guards. There weren't any. Walter hurried over to the wall, opening a panel to expose some cables, and then expertly grafting in his own equipment to tap the sensors and computer logs.

"There are only fifteen other people besides us, all of them human-"

Click…click…click

Four men turned to watch Lupin's wand go bouncing across the floor. He made no move to pick it up.

"What's wrong?" Daniel asked, taking a step towards him.

Lupin shuddered, and bent over, clutching his stomach as if he'd just been kicked. Daniel reached out his hand. Snape grabbed his collar and jerked him backwards.

"We have to leave this room, Now!" Snape ordered.

"Look at his eyes. They're yellow," muttered Daniel.

"What's wrong with his teeth?" Walter asked, leaning towards the man who was beginning to twitch.

"And his hands," said Siler pointing.

"Play red riding hood later you fools!" Snape shouted.

He snatched up the wand off the floor, and growled something almost under his breath. Suddenly Lupin was tossed one way and the SGC personnel the other.

"What are you doing?" asked Daniel.

"I have no desire to be torn apart by a werewolf," Snape said backing out the door with Lupin's wand trained on its owner. "Get out of the room now so I can seal it!"

"Werewolf?" asked Siler. "That's crazy."

Lupin snarling with a fang filled mouth, got to his feet, which preempted further argument. They rushed out into the hall. Snape waved his wand and the metal of the pressure doors melted together into a seamless sheet.

"Is there any other way out of that room?" asked Snape.

"The kitchen and storage rooms are connected to the mess, but this door is the only way into them," said Walter.

"He's really a werewolf?" Siler asked.

Snape rolled his eyes.

"Aren't they only supposed to be able to transform during a full moon?" Siler asked.

Before Snape could answer Walter spoke. "In the Prometheus current position we have a full view of the light side of the Moon, though how that would turn someone into a wolf is beyond me."

Daniel cleared his throat. "We still have a space ship to take over," he pointed out. "I'm sure there will be plenty of time to discuss this later."

The sergeants nodded. As planned, Siler and Walter headed for the engine room. Daniel started for the bridge and after one last look at the mess hall door, Snape followed him.

* * *

Carter wiped her face on her sleeve and then pinched her nose again. She didn't think it was broken. Her arm had slowed the staff weapon enough to prevent that at least. The blood was getting everywhere though. Teal'c was stirring on the floor a few feet away. He'd taken a shot from a zat before he could even throw a punch. O'Neill had ordered them not to fight with the guards. She wasn't sorry she'd disobeyed.

She looked around the cell again. The walls were all solid. She couldn't even pry the light fixtures loose. She crawled over to the door and began her search again. There must be something she missed. As she felt along the seams in the metal she heard talking out in the hall and pressed her ear to the door.

"I've hic! been ordered to hic! bring hic! Colonel Carter before our Lord Ba'al."

"We were not informed."

"Well, I'm informing you. I'm all ready to escort her to the pel'tak. See? I even have two zats."

CHING!

Carter jumped back from the door as she heard the weapon activate. There was a shout in the hallway and then two shots from the zat. She waved Teal'c over. It got quiet and Carter pressed her ear to the door again. There was more hiccupping and some faint scratching. The door slid open. A thin middle-aged woman in a jump suit walked in. Her whole body was rattling as hiccup after hiccup escaped her.

"Dr. Novak?" Carter asked.

They'd worked together a few times when Carter was aboard the Prometheus. Novak was probably the last person she expected to come to their rescue. The engineer was famous for erupting into a fit of hiccups when ever she was nervous.

"Hic! You've got to Hic! hurry. I diverted power from the security systems but Hic! it's only a matter of time before somebody else picks it up!" Dr. Novak said.

Cater nodded and accepted the zat that was pushed into her hands. She and Teal'c stepped out of the cell, searching the hallway for threats. The other prisoners stepped out after, searching the unconscious guards for weapons before dragging them into the room. Four zats and two staff weapons between twelve people, it wasn't the ideal set up for taking over a Goa'uld mother ship, but SG1 had done more with less.

"Any idea how many we're up against?" Carter asked Novak, who was trying to keep up with them and hold her breath at the same time.

"The Prometheus had a crew of sixty two Hic! and I don't know how many are on which ship. The Goa'uld brought most of us over to fix this one. He's killed at Hic! least four of our people so far. I don't know how many rebel Jaffa are around here either. I passed at least Hic! twenty on my way down."

"Two hundred and seventy eight of our warriors were brought up to the ship when we first captured it," Bre'tac called in a low voice.

Cater nodded. "Are you the only one who has broken free of Ba'al's control?" she asked Novak.

Novak shrugged. "I'm the only one I know about. I don't know how Hic! I got loose either. I've been sabotaging things Hic! trying to use the com system, trying all kinds of Hic! stuff. I was sure he knew something was up. He kept looking at me, sneaking up on me. I don't know. Hic! I was sure that he knew, but he never did anything. It's been making me Hic! really nervous."

They turned the corner and came across a patrol then, so the conversation was cut short. Six zat shots later and every one in there group was armed. Teal'c was grazed by a shot from a staff weapon but no alarms went off. They found a storage room and dragged their newest collection of prisoners inside.

"We're going to have to take out the bridge, the weapons systems, the engines, and the shields," Carter said.

"The only problem is there are about three hundred twenty of our own people between us and them," Novak pointed out. "If we take out the Goa'uld do you think they'll come out of it?"

Carter looked to Teal'c and Bre'tac, but neither of them had an answer.

"He's not using Goa'uld technology, so we aren't sure what its limitations are. Have you seen anything that might indicate taking him out will work?"

Novak hiccupped, and then shrugged. "People won't even go to the bathroom without his permission. Even if they don't get loose when he goes down it will at least confuse them."

Carter nodded. "Alright, three groups of four. Bre'tac your group takes out the shields and engines, they're linked to the same generators. Novak take these three and deal with the weapons systems. The rest of us will take the bridge and Ba'al."

Eleven heads nodded.

"Godspeed."

* * *

"-and so the rapidly increasing gravitational fields destabilize the super-condensed internal matrix of the crystal, causing it to resonate at a particular frequency, which I don't know by the way, that allows the Z.P.M. to conduct power through a stable channel in subspace, delivering power from the module to the Ancient technology," O'Neill concluded.

He really wished he had a clock. It seemed to be a much longer spiel when Carter had given it to him, but when he was repeating the incomprehensible techno babble back to Ba'al it seemed to pour out in less then five minutes. The Goa'uld was watching him with a slightly amused expression, and since those aliens had an unusually sick sense of humor O'Neill didn't think good things were about to happen.

"You do realize," said the Goa'uld, "that according to your explanation Ancient technology will only function within a black hole?"

O'Neill thought for a moment, realized he didn't know enough about astrophysics, and decided to go with a shrug. Ba'al raised his right hand.

"Crucio."

When it stopped Ba'al stood before him, watching and waiting.

"That's all I know!"

"Crucio."

"You know," O'Neill said gasping for breath, "This is getting old real fast."

The Goa'uld raised an eyebrow.

"Is it? We will have to send for Colonel Carter then, to keep things interesting."

O'Neill swallowed. "You don't want to bring Carter in. She'll just start talking about neutrino output fluxes and String theory. She'll bore you to death really."

"That female is the one who created the interface between your primitive computers and the Stargate on your planet."

O'Neill did not respond.

"I know this already from the Tauri aboard the vessel I captured. They seemed to think she was the only one who could tell me how the Ancient technology worked."

Again he paused as if waiting for O'Neill to say something. O'Neill kept his mouth tightly closed. If he told Ba'al the truth, that Carter was probably the only one who could even begin to understand how the Ancient's stuff worked then Ba'al would start to question her, and he knew Carter wouldn't give up anything without a fight. If Ba'al thought she knew something useful he'd just start torturing her. On the other hand if he didn't say something Carter could end up dead like Captain Vaun. So weeks of torture and the eventual loss of identity with repetitive use of the sarcophagus, or dead in the next few hours; O'Neill knew which one Carter would choose, but he kept his mouth shut anyway.

"If you will not speak to save her, perhaps she will speak to save you."

Ba'al went to the table where he had piled up the unpleasant objects he used to entertain visitors. As he picked over knives and bottles, O'Neill noticed a 9mm and a P90 had been added to the collection. He looked up at Ba'al, who must have noticed where he was looking, because he picked the P90 up.

"Your species creates very crude weapons. Unlike our technology they often cause a slow agonizing death. Of course in some situations that is what is desired."

Ba'al flicked off the safety and pointed the gun at O'Neill. He squeezed the trigger.

For a moment the echo of gunfire was over powering. O'Neill could focus on nothing else. He felt the bullets hit him, but they seemed to be at the edge of his thoughts. He supposed it could have been from the endorphins stirred up by the whole crucio thing. He felt them hit, but it was more like a three quick punched to the stomach then the normal mortal agony of such wounds. He heard bullets ricochet off the wall beside him and something sizzled and sparked. The next thing he new he was face down on the floor.

With supreme effort he tilted up his chin so he could see the Goa'uld. His eyes were flaring orange again and he scowled as he dropped the P90 to the floor. O'Neill supposed he hadn't meant to hit the circuitry supplying the gravity generator. The Goa'uld shouted something to his guards in his own language and they left. The only word O'Neill understood was "Carter". The Goa'uld waved a hand at O'Neill and he was flipped over onto his back. Ba'al came closer, peering down at the damage he had cased. O'Neill's eyes started to drift closed.

"Enervate!" said Ba'al.

It felt like an electrical shock. His eyelids sprang open and refused to close again.

"You will stay conscious until Colonel Carter arrives-"

The chiming was so faint O'Neill was not certain he had heard it, but Ba'al whirled suddenly and strode away across the room, out of his range of vision. O'Neill raised his head off the floor and stabbing pain shot through his abdomen. He could only hold himself up for a few seconds but it was long enough to see. He let his head fall back to the floor with a thump.

There was a lot of blood, but he saw that none of wounds were particularly centered. He tried to wiggle his toes and found they would move after a fashion. O'Neill turned his head again. He saw Ba'al on the other side of the room messing with a keyboard with his back to him, and the P90 on the floor half way between them.

O'Neill rolled over and began to drag himself across the floor. He didn't move quietly. The buttons on his clothes and his boots scrapped and squeaked as he pulled and pushed him self along. The Goa'uld did not turn around.

_Did he have his personal shield up? Was this some kind of trick? Was the Goa'uld just messing with him?_

Even as these thoughts stumbled through his mind he continued to crawl. He looked up at the holographic projections that Ba'al was watching so intently. The Prometheus was moving toward them and her weapons systems were powering up. He wriggled forward and looked down at the floor again, worried that Ba'al would somehow feel his eyes upon him; feel what he apparently did not hear. O'Neill's hand closed over the barrel of the P90. It was still hot. He aimed at the Goa'uld's back from his prone position, but hesitated.

_He didn't just forget I'm here. Goa'uld don't do absent minded things like that. But Goa'uld don't accidentally blow up their own equipment and they don't fall out of their chairs._

For a moment he had a wild hope that the kid had somehow regained some control of his body, but it couldn't be risked.

_He must have his personal shield up. I have to get closer, crawl through it before I fire._

He crawled closer. He thought about putting the P90 to the back of the kid's head and finishing it. He was six feet away and the Goa'uld still hadn't turned. O'Neill pushed himself up on his elbows and one at a time pulled his knees under him. He was soaked in blood and his feet slipped as he put weight on them. There was a loud wet squeak, but the Goa'uld did not turn. Using the P90 almost like a crutch he pushed his rapidly numbing body upright. He lifted the gun to his shoulder and stepped closer.

_I have to end this_. His head was spinning. _I have to end this._

He remembered. He had shot Skarra to keep the Goa'uld from destroying Earth. He'd ordered them to shut off the gate, to kill Major Kowalski and keep the Goa'uld in his friend's head from escaping through the gate with information about the SGC.

_I have to end this._

He remembered how Ba'al had tortured him, how years ago he had tortured him for weeks for information O'Neill did not even posses, how Ba'al was going to destroy Earth, how he was going to kill Carter.

_I have to end this. _

_I can end this._

He felt the safety with his thumb. It was already off. He stepped closer and raised the barrel so it was even with the back of the kid's head, less then an inch away. The Goa'uld stiffened up then, suddenly tense, suddenly aware. Ba'al started to bring up the hand device, but froze with his arms half raised like an awkwardly posed Barbie doll.

"Do it," he said in a voice that didn't echo, a voice that belonged only to the kid.

O'Neill's hand shook.

"Do it," Harry Potter said. "Can't…hold him…"

O'Neill shifted his grip on the P90. His hand slid off the trigger and up the barrel. He brought it back and then swung it down as hard as he could. With an audible crack it hit the back of the kid's head and slammed his face into the keyboard he'd been working at. He started to tip over and O'Neill raised the gun and brought it down again in the same spot. The kid bounced off the consul again and fell to the floor. His eyes flashed orange and his hands came up to block the blow. O'Neill slammed the butt of the riffle into his temple. There was another cracking sound. The orange glow faded and the kid's eyes sunk closed.

O'Neill sank to the floor. He reached for the kid's left hand and tugged off the ribbon device. He tossed it across the room and then scooted backwards so he could lean against the wall and still see the kid and the door. He checked the clip on the P90; twenty rounds left. If the guards came back he'd use up nineteen of them. If that wasn't enough he might still have to finish Ba'al off.

He watched and waited, his eyes growing heavier and the room growing colder. He knew he'd pass out soon. He didn't know what he was waiting for. He knew he was bleeding out. He knew he should finish off Ba'al in the next few minutes. If Ba'al woke up first they were all screwed. But he waited. The room got darker and sparks flew from a panel on the other side of the room. He heard foot steps and raised the gun.

Carter stepped through the door, with a zat in one hand and bruised and bloody nose. O'Neill let go of the P90 and it clattered to the floor. She scanned the room and then rushed to him. He saw Teal'c close behind. Teal'c toed the kid with his boot and then began to tear Ba'al's robe into strips to tie him up with. There were two more people behind them. O'Neill didn't know them.

"Sir?" she said. She started poking at the holes in his belly.

"Get the snake out of the kid's head," O'Neill said. "I told him…get it out, alright Carter?"

He let his eyes drift closed.

"Sir?"

She was slapping the sides of his face.

"Sir, you have to stay awake! Stay with us!"

The room felt cold.

"Sir!"


	21. Inside Out

**Authors Note:** Another update is on the way shortly. Don't forget to review.

**Crumpets Aren't My Style**

**By Marz**

**Inside Out**

The radio buzzed, barely audible over the hail of gun fire and intermittent chiming of zats. Daniel bent his head, trying to hear and keep a clear view of the door in case any of the Prometheus' crew tried to charge the bridge again.

"We're loosing navigation!" Walter's voice buzzed. "If we're going to make a run on them it has to be now!"

Daniel swore and risked looking over his shoulder to check on Snape. He was still sitting in captain's chair, arms crossed with a scowl on his face. He'd started pouting when Siler suggested they super accelerate the Prometheus using a hyperspace window and ram the Goa'uld ship with it, after all their other weapons failed to penetrate the larger craft's shields. Snape claimed he wasn't interested in suicide and had from that point refused to help.

"ALRIGHT," Daniel shouted, pressing the talk button. "IF WE CAN TAKE OUT THE GENERATORS-"

He cut himself off as his voice echoed around a suddenly otherwise silent room. Daniel looked at Snape again, but he was still sitting exactly where he had been. It wasn't something he'd done. Daniel crept toward the corridor leading to the bridge. They'd been unable to bring down the door. He leaned around the corner and ducked back.

There were three men standing in the corridor, P90's in their hands. Daniel looked again. The men held their guns pointed in his general direction, but they were looking around blankly as if they no longer remembered what to do with them. Daniel's radio buzzed and he almost set off his zat.

"Dr. Jackson?" it was Siler. "Dr, Jackson, something's up."

Daniel pressed the talk button. "Did they all just stop down there too?"

"Yeah, they're just standing around."

"Ok, hang on a second. Tell Walter to hang on too. I'm going to hail the Goa'uld ship."

Daniel backed towards the com center, and typed in the codes. There was a tense moment, and then the monitors above the captain's chair flickered on. Daniel gave Snape a little shove and he less then graciously got out of the way. A Jaffa appeared on the screen. He still bore the mark of Ra upon his forehead, though that System Lord had been dead for the better part of ten years. The Jaffa blinked at the screen, but did not speak.

"Hello?" Daniel said.

The Jaffa blinked again, his brow lined slightly as if he were trying to think of something but could not remember what.

"Is Ba'al there?" asked Daniel.

The Jaffa opened his mouth to speak, then stopped, then started again as if trying to figure out how his own mouth worked.

"My Lord Ba'al….the false god…I…I do not know," he said finally.

"Can you please go check?" Daniel asked.

The Jaffa started to turn away from the screen.

"No! Wait! Is Teal'c or General O'Neill there?"

"The shol'va…I…Teal'c was imprisoned. There was an escape…I do not know where he is now."

"Can you go find Teal'c? Tell him to contact the Prometheus, please?"

The Jaffa nodded and disappeared. Daniel looked back at the doorway. The three men who had been doing their best to shoot him were now peering around the corner, looking more then a little confused.

"Dr.Jackson?" said one of them. "What are you doing here?"

* * *

"Turn here!" Carter shouted.

"Are you certain?" Teal'c asked.

"Yes."

They turned the corner and continued to drag their perspective burdens. Teal'c carried General O'Neill, while Carter dragged Ba'al, semiconscious, bound, and gagged. It could not have been more then five minutes since they found O'Neill and Ba'al in the chamber, but it seemed like hours had passed searching for the room containing the sarcophagus. They ran up another corridor, passing several more rebel Jaffa who stood about dazed. On of them called after Teal'c as they passed, but he did not stop to answer. Up one corridor and down the next they ran. Several times Teal'c slipped, nearly falling as O'Neill's blood slicked the floor.

Finally the door was in sight. Carter rushed to the controls and pressed the 'open' button. They stumbled into the room. The sarcophagus was open already, an unholy white glow coming from within. Teal'c lowered O'Neill into the box and then leaned back, pressing the glyph on the side.

Nothing happened.

He tried again, but again nothing happened. He rushed to the other side of the huge gold embossed box, and pried off the side panel. All the connections appeared intact, all the crystals whole and unbroken. He looked to Carter and with a nod they traded place. He stood guard over Ba'al while she leaned into the workings of the alien machine, disappearing almost to the waist. She swore and crawled back out.

"There's nothing wrong with the equipments. It must be some sort of programming lock out."

They both turned to look at the Goa'uld bound and gagged on the floor. His eyes were still unfocused and rolling in his head.

"Do you think we've got any chance of getting it out of him," Carter asked.

Teal'c shook his head. He was about to speak when the door slid open and an unarmed Jaffa hurried into the room. He gave Teal'c a short bow, and then stopped as if he had forgotten what he was going to say.

"Why are you here?" Teal'c prompted.

"We have received a transmission from the Prometheus. They requested you contact them," the Jaffa replied.

* * *

Daniel leaned over the screen. Carter's voice was unusually high as she spoke.

"-bring over as many medical suppliesas you can. We have to stabilize him until we can find Dr. Carlson."

Daniel nodded. The surgeon from the Prometheus was still unaccounted for. He had to be somewhere on the Goa'uld ship.

"I'll ring over in five minutes," Daniel said, turning off the com.

Walter took over the station as soon as he stood up. The tech sergeant was going to call the SGC and try to convince them that everything was once again under control, hopefully heading off any sort of nuclear strike.

Daniel adjusted his zat in its holster and then ran for the infirmary. He snatched up an emergency med kit and then found a plastic bucket. He ran to the refrigerators and began shove bags of saline solution and O negative into it. Next he tossed in plastic tubing, needles, scalpels, and gauze. He noticed Snape had followed him and thrust a portable automatic defibulator into his hands. He jogged to the ring room and Snape followed.

The wizard let out a startled shout as the rings activated, leaping from the floor and swallowing them in a flash of light. Rya'c was waiting for them in the ring room. He looked dazed but led them straight to O'Neill. Carter was kneeling on the floor, pressing a wad of none too clean cloth to O'Neill's abdomen. Daniel dropped down on the prone man's other side and tore open his sleeve, rolling back the cloth and trying to find a vein. He reached into the bucket and pulled out an I. V.

Dr. Frasier had shown him how to do this. He'd even assisted her a few times stabilizing the injured in the field before dragging them back through the gate. He'd never done it on his own though. Carter pulled the blood pressure cuff out of the med kit and threw it too him. Peripherally Daniel noticed another Jaffa enter the room, and speak to Teal'c.

"They found Dr. Carlson. He is dead," Teal'c announced.

Daniel looked at the blood pressure cuff. It was falling despite the nearly empty bag of saline he was holding above his head.

"Call Walter!" Daniel shouted. "See if he can convince the SGC to send a doctor up. They can bring him up with the Asgard beams."

"V-fib!" Carter shouted, a stethoscope dangling from one of her ears.

Daniel turned and saw Snape lurking in the corner with the defibulator. He scrambled across the floor and snatched it from him. They stuck the little white pads onto O'Neill's chest.

"Clear!" Carter shouted and hit the button.

O'Neill's body twitched. They looked at the monitors. His heart was going too fast, but at least it was moving blood again. Daniel started another I.V. That bag emptied and he started another, blood this time. Teal'c returned.

"General Briggs has refused to send medical personnel," he announced.

"Rya'c," Carter called. "Get everyone you can find to search for a Goa'uld healing device!"

Daniel chewed his lip but didn't say anything. Carter had some ability to use Goa'uld technology, because of her time as an involuntary host to a Tok'ra, but her control of the healing device was shaky at best. Daniel started another bag. The floor around O'Neill was soaked. Fluid was coming out as fast as they pumped it in. He wasn't going to make it.

* * *

Snape watched the muggles work their primitive medicine, shouting at each other and hovering on the edge of panic. How did they expect electrocution to help the injured? His eyes drifted to Potter, bound and gagged on the other side of the room. There was a trickle of blood coming from his scalp and a large bruise spreading across the side of his face. His eyes were bleary and unfocused.

The muggles were convinced that some sort of parasite had crawled up into the boy's brain and was controlling his actions. He supposed it wasn't out of the question. On his own Potter certainly didn't have the focused mind it would require to control so many with the Imperious.

"His heart's stopped!" the muggle woman shouted, as if the man less then two feet from her wouldn't hear otherwise.

They hit the buttons on their little box again and the man on the floor jerked as the electricity flowed through him. The little monitors bore flat lines and an annoying high pitched beep wailed in the air. They hit the button again. Jackson dug through the bucket and then through the kit, finally coming up with one of the largest syringes Snape had ever seen. He put a hand to O'Neill's bloody chest and seemed to be feeling around for something.

"Do you know what your doing?" Carter asked.

"The adrenalin needs to go directly into the heart," Jackson answered.

"Do you really think that will help?" Snape couldn't help but ask.

"It won't make him any deader," Jackson snapped.

He pushed the needle in slammed the plunger down. Yellow liquid was forced out of the tube. The monitor picked up a fluttering little blip. They shocked him again. It actually seemed to take. Jackson attached another bag of blood. They were fighting a battle they couldn't win and knew it. Still, Snape was impressed in the slightest sort of way by their tenacity, and very curious about where they got so much human blood from. He felt eyes on him and looked up. Teal'c was staring at him.

"Can you use your magics to help him?" Teal'c asked.

"I suppose I could," Snape said.

The kneeling muggles jerked up their heads to stare at him, their expressions both enraged and hopeful.

"But," Snape continued, "It would only draw this out. I don't have the power to repair all his injuries. He's too far gone."

"Then do what you can," ordered Carter. "Seconds matter."

Snape considered being offended. She was one of those people who had threatened him and kept him locked in a tiny room under a mountain. It would probably be smarter to just stun them all, take Potter and return to Earth. Of course then Dumbledore would ask him what had happened and where his pet werewolf had gotten to.

Snape raised his wand and brought up his best put-upon expression. He was using someone else's wand so he didn't expect ideal results, but he began to chant restorative charms and sealing spells. If he had a cauldron and a decent stock of ingredients he could have the muggle up and running about his pointless life again in fifteen minutes, but as he was potion less, slowing the bleeding and strengthening the lungs and heart were all he could really do. The little muggle shock box showed a slow and steady heart beat though blood pressure was still low. He stepped back. Blood had soaked into the cuffs of the pants the muggles had given him.

"Thank you," Jackson said, voice oozing with sincerity.

The woman echoed him and Teal'c gave him a half bow.

"I am going to attempt to contact my own people. They may be able to intervene further," Snape said and left the room.

Despite the apparent vanity of the creature who designed the craft in which he walked, it took him a long time to find a mirror. He set about charming its surface, which thanks to Lupin's finicky wand took three separate applications to settle in. He leaned towards the glass and spoke.

"Albus Dumbledore."

The entire surface obscured in fog, slowly lifting to reveal an ancient man with long white hair.

"Severus? My dear boy, how are you?" Dumbledore asked, sounding every bit the doddering grandfather.

"The task I undertook on your orders is for the most part completed. However a matter has come to light that requires, if not your presence, at least the supervision of someone very competent, and trained healers as well."

"May I ask who is injured?"

"The less the matter is discussed the better, but it's only a muggle that requires serious healers' attention."

"Truly?" the old man asked, wild hope apparent in his eyes.

"You will have to create a very long distance portkey," Snape said. "Can you use the mirror to set the destination?"

"No, but I can arrange for it to home in on you if you have no objection."

"It is very far, but I suppose if Lupin can do it anyone can."

"Is Remus with you?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"We'll be there within half an hour."

* * *

"Where are we going sir?" Bill asked, eyeing the other occupants of the room.

Aside from his brother Charlie there were three witches in St. Mungo's robes, most likely healers, and three other members of the Order. Crystal Murdock he could name, but not the other two.

"Hopefully all the way to our destination," Dumbledore answered cheerfully.

Bill looked at Charlie who shrugged. He and his brother had been helping dig through the remains of the Ministry of Magic when Fawkes had arrived with a summons to 12 Grimmauld Place. As they disapparated Bill prepared himself for more tragedy. That was all anyone expected these days. He was a bit surprised when Headmaster Dumbledore stated very calmly that they were going on a trip for an unknown length of time, and that they should pack a change of underwear and a toothbrush or two. Now the ancient man stood before them with a bicycle tire in his hands and a very cheerful look on his face. The nine of them stepped together to grab hold of the tire, which Bill assumed was a portkey.

"Ms. Murdock," said Dumbledore, "Please cast bubble charm around us. If my calculations are off, we will likely need a few breaths of air in which to make corrections."

The woman nodded and swung her wand. Bill frowned. The only time he'd ever used that charm before travel was when he was going somewhere that might be underwater. He traded glances with Charlie, who shrugged.

Dumbledore cleared his throat and announced "We'll be on our way in 3…2…1…"

He'd never taken a portkey quite like this before. Usually when one traveled, the world swirled passed in a blurred rainbow, but all Bill had seen was darkness and few streaks of white. Bill took a deep and shaking breath as they landed. They stood in a long hallway. The floor was polished black stone and the walls gleamed with gold, illuminated by glowing panels near their base. They were covered in hieroglyphics. He'd learned to recognize a few while working for Gringott's in Egypt but what the walls said made little sense. It was something about the god Ba'al, but Bill was fairly certain that was a Mesopotamian deity.

A shadow moved and Bill drew his wand. He glanced sideways at Dumbledore, but the ancient man did not look disturbed in the least. The shadow came closer and he saw that it was Professor Snape. The rather greasy and unpleasant man nodded to Dumbledore and then let his scathing gaze wander over the rest of the group.

"Two Weasleys? These are indeed desperate times," Snape said.

"You've got blood on your face," Charlie pointed out.

Bill looked closer and saw the Snape did indeed have a few drops of blood splattered on his forehead and right cheek.

"Yes, the muggles are getting it everywhere," Snape said.

He turned and walked down the hall, and the rest of the group followed. They came to an ornate doorway, with two men in grubby chain mail standing on either side of it. The men had shaved heads and symbols on their foreheads, the man on the right had the symbol of the Egyptian serpent god Apophis, the one on the left had the symbol of Horus. They gave Snape a suspicious look but did not impede their passage into the room beyond.

Two muggles knelt on the floor next to a prone man. All three were covered in blood. The man with glasses was holding a packet of blood above his head, and a long tube connected it to the prone man's arm. The woman was holding a cloth to the prone man's abdomen where blood was still oozing out. Bill recognized the kneeling ones as the muggles who had escaped from Grimmauld Place several months earlier. The women's eyebrows still hadn't entirely grown back. There were three other men in the room, all of whom had a symbol on their foreheads. One large man had his symbol done in gold. Bill supposed he was the leader. He noticed that man was smeared with blood as well. Behind the muggles was a large gold plated sarcophagus, with blood smeared all over the side. He supposed Snape was right about them getting it everywhere.

"Identify yourselves," said the man with the gold symbol.

Bill guessed they'd spent a suspicious amount of time just gawking. Dumbledore stepped forward extending a hand.

"I am Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, and my companions are Healers Peebles, Urslin, and Walsh, Ms. Murdock, Mr. Bennet, Mr. Clearwater the younger, and because the occasion warrants, not one but two Mr. Weasleys, and of course Professor Snape you are already acquainted with. Now while we are going through the rest of the introductions I suggest the healers start working on this gentleman, who seems very much to need them."

Bill suppressed a smile. If Dumbledore was acting his normal kooky self again it could mean only one kind of good news was on the way. The man with the gold symbol nodded, and the healers approached the man on the floor.

Bill felt eyes on the back of his head and turned. Harry was standing on the other side of the sarcophagus, the left side of his face was bruised. He didn't have his glasses. He was wearing black and gold robes that did not suit him at all.

"Harry?" Bill asked, starting to smile.

Harry smiled back and held up his hand.

* * *

The world had become so bright he could barely stand it. He felt everything, but there was only the illusion of control. All of his will and he could only cause the faintest twitching in his own fingers. And it knew. It knew when he tried and the world get brighter. He was crushed down, bits and pieces of memory were scraped away. For hours at a time even his name was lost to him.

The only time he was sure, the only time he could really remember was when it used his magic. It had to let him up to use it. He didn't know why, but afterward it seemed to have trouble pushing him back down. He could hang around and make little mistakes, and it wouldn't know right away.

He could feel it letting up, trying to use his magic, trying to use the Imperious again. He looked out through the brightness. The Jaffa who had been guarding him was now untying him. Harry tried to make some noise, to warn the others in the room, but he was crushed down.

He heard someone call to him and remembered.

_My name's Harry. _

He couldn't stop it though.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore considered himself to be a very attentive person, but he was forced to admit that in this instance he had allowed himself too much slack. He had been listening to Teal'c introduce the rest of the room. He wasn't aware of the problem until he saw Bill Weasley flying across the room, robes consumed in flame.

Charlie Weasley caught him before he struck the opposite wall and a surge of water stopped him burning, but in the next instant a wall of fire was sweeping across the room. The healers stumbled backwards fumbling to bring up wards. Carter and Dr. Jackson threw themselves across O'Neill, trying to shield him despite the futility of the gesture.

Dumbledore waved his wand, muttering a counter spell to contain the flames. The fire stopped, splashing upwards, a wave hitting a sheet of glass.

He saw Harry stepping forward through the flames, untouched by them. Harry raised his right hand and Dumbledore saw the palm was swollen and infected. Harry tried to throw a blasting hex, but it fell apart in sparks of colored light. Harry tried to back peddle, but Dumbledore raised his wand once again. The charm bordered dark magic, and required a very specific twist of the wrist. Harry was lifted off his feet. His arms twisted up behind his back, and though it was not apparent to those watching, pressure was also being applied to his throat to keep him from speaking. The fires died away.

Colonel Carter and Dr. Jackson got to their feet and the rather rattled healers stepped forward again, levitating the unconscious O'Neill so they could inspect his wounds.

Dumbledore stepped slowly toward the boy who looked down his nose at him. Dumbledore looked into the eyes that should have belonged to Harry Potter but didn't. He looked in and saw nothing of the boy he knew; no trust, no compassion, no bravery or loyalty. He looked into Harry's eyes but saw no hint of his soul.

"Severus, could you lend your expertise?" he asked.

Snape sighed, but approached. He looked into the boy's eyes and his brow wrinkled. The boy's eyes suddenly flashed orange, as if a spark had lit up the inside of his head. Then his eyes rolled back and he started convulsing.

"Potter is intact, but almost entirely repressed," he said, absentmindedly rubbing his temple.

"Some good news at least," Dumbledore said.

He turned around and realized all the muggles were watching him.

"Perhaps we'd better start the introductions again," Dumbledore said. "I think I missed a few names in all the excitement."

* * *

Carter put her hand on the panel and the bridge of the Prometheus appeared around her. Walter jumped a bit in surprise, but only a bit. It wasn't the first time someone had materialized in front of him, and in this case it was only a hologram.

"I just got off the radio with General Briggs again," Walter said. "I was about to send over your new orders. Congratulations, Colonel. You get to take one giant leap for mankind."

With a faint smile the balding tech brought up a telemetry screen on his consul. Carter looked over his shoulder, unable to do anything else. The SGC had ordered them to land the Goa'uld ship a few kilometers outside the Sea of Tranquility, in the shadow of crater. Carter would have had them set down on the dark side of the moon to avoid Earth's telescopes; then again she supposed the last day and a half had given the SGC a good reason to want to keep an eye on them.

"Are you sure you don't want to come along for a moon landing?" Carter asked.

"I'll wait for the next one," Walter said. "Besides I'm in no hurry to be in close quarters with that creepy Snape guy again."

"He is kind of…unusual," Carter said, "But the people he called in are pretty friendly, if oddly dressed."

Walter shrugged. "Briggs isn't too happy about that either."

Carter nodded. "I sent him my report about half an hour ago. Is the Prometheus just going to stay in orbit of the moon then?"

"Yeah, we're supposed to make sure you don't take off without official orders from the President himself; as if we could stop you."

"Thanks Walter," she said. "I should probably get back to work on the ship. We want to be sure of hull integrity before we land."

As she raised her hand from the panel Walter turned suddenly.

"Wait! What are we supposed to do about the werewolf in the mess hall?"

* * *

"General?"

"Uhhhhhhhhhhh."

"General O'Neill? Can you hear me?"

He didn't recognize the voice; British and wavering slightly, an old man's voice.

_I should probably open my eyes_, he though.

"Yes you probably should."

"Said that out loud, did I?" O'Neill croaked.

"No," said the old man.

There was a burning sensation in his throat. Carefully he opened one eyelid. The lights were low so he risked opening the other one as well. The gold walls and ceiling gave away that he was still on a Goa'uld command ship. But he then realized that he was lying on a very large four poster bed, something entirely unlikely to be found aboard a Goa'uld command ship. He sat up. There was a strange tight feeling across his abdomen, as if he had pulled a muscle. He looked down and put his finger through a bullet hole in his torn and melted flight suit. It looked like someone had washed it. The blood was gone. He pulled up the black cotton fabric and was mildly surprised to find no corresponding hole in his gut. His head was a little foggy but it wasn't achingly confused the way it usually was after he'd been in a sarcophagus.

The old man was sitting in a violently green and yellow upholstered chair a few feet from the bed. He had long white hair and a beard that nearly touched the floor. He was wearing what looked like a muumuu with an equally eye gouging pink and orange theme, and a matching pointed hat. His spectacles were sliding down his long crooked nose and he pushed them back up with a finger, never once taking his eyes off O'Neill.

"Healer Peebles took care of your injuries," the old man said. "They were quite severe. She had to give you a rather large dose of blood replenishing potion. That's why your throat hurts. You've been unconscious for nearly five hours."

O'Neill looked around again. He stood up and realized his boots were gone.

The old man reached inside his muumuu and O'Neill tensed, but rather then drawing a weapon the old man fished out a small tin box.

"Lemon drop?"

O'Neill shook his head.

"Now that you are feeling better, we should probably make out way to the 'peltak' I believe it is called. There is quite a lot going on and a lot left to do."

"Yeah. Ok. Whatever."

O'Neill followed the old man out of the room and through several corridors. The cold floor under his bare feet felt too solid to be part of a hallucination. _Maybe I'm not cracking up under torture. Maybe I really am wandering a Goa'uld command ship with Merlin._

"My name is Albus Dumbledore, actually," the old man called back to him.

O'Neill caught up to him a moment before the door of the peltak, aka the bridge, slid open.

Carter and a Jaffa women were picking at a melted panel, which, if O'Neill was remembering correctly, controlled the ship's navigation through hyperspace. Carter turned to look at him and grinned so wide she seemed in danger of pulling a facial muscle.

"Go to see you're up and about sir," she said.

O'Neill nodded. "Likewise."

"As much as I love happy reunions," announced Dumbledore, "I have some pressing business to attend to out side. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance General O'Neill."

The old man gave a half bow to Carter and the Jaffa woman and then turned in a swirl of pink and orange fabric and strode off down the hall. The door closed behind him. O'Neill looked down at his own feet for a moment.

"Just so we're clear, both of you saw that very cheerful lunatic too right?"

The Jaffa woman raised an eyebrow, Carter nodded, still smiling.

"Don't worry sir, the others are much less eccentric…at least as clothing goes."

"Others?" O'Neill asked.

"Nine total sir, not counting Snape and Lupin who came up with Daniel, Siler, and Walter, or Harry of course."

"Walter? Wait, what?"

* * *

He could barely keep from humming as he altered the charms on the mirror. He had awoken that morning with the certainty that he did not have the will or strength to do it again the next morning. But now, now they had Harry back, and missing members of the Order were accounted for and no one had seen hide nor hair of the Death Eaters since attack. Dumbledore knew they had taken heavy losses in the attack. He also knew that it was too much to hope that Tom had died in the fires that had pounded Riddle Manor and the surrounding country into a scorched crater. But it would take months for them to rebuild their organization.

He sobered a bit then. The attack on the Ministry had killed nearly a hundred and fifty witches and wizards at the latest count, Minister Fudge included. And now Dumbledore had a new wizard to contend with, equally stubborn, but at least not stubbornly in denial as Fudge had been. He leaned toward the mirror and spoke.

"Rufus Scrimgeour."

The surface fogged up and then cleared revealing a shrewd face peering at him with yellowish eyes through thick spectacles. Scrimgeour's graying hair was covered in bits of rubble and dust from picking through the remains of Fudge's office. Apparently a mirror of Fudge's had survived the blast it's owner had not.

"Dumbledore?" he asked, seeming overly surprised. "Where are you? In case you hadn't noticed we have a bit of a crisis on our hands."

"Good evening to you too Minister," Dumbledore said smiling, "As to my location, I am not at liberty to disclose it at the moment, but be assured I am doing my best to ensure that the 'crisis' does not repeat itself."

"What are you going on about? What's that behind you? Are you in Egypt?"

"Egypt? No, but I believe I can see it from here."

"So you are just calling to waste my time?" Scrimgeour asked rudely.

"No," said Dumbledore with a sigh. "Seeing as how a fair amount of Ministry's remaining resources have no doubt been put into figuring out how these attacks occurred, I thought it was best to keep you apprised. The attack was not carried out by Death Eaters, as was first assumed. It was not carried out by wizards at all."

Scrimgeour blinked in surprise for a moment, and then his scowl returned. "Of course it was Wizards! Who else would be capable of such powerful magic?"

"It was not magic, Minister."

Scrimgeour let out a frustrated huff. "I really don't have time for this," he repeated, giving Dumbledore an appraising look. "If you have any other information to impart, call one of the Junior Ministers."

With that the Minister waved his wand over the mirror, severing the connection. As the image faded, Dumbledore thought he saw a pair of red eyes superimposed over the Minister's own. He blinked and they were gone. Frowning, he removed the charms from the mirror, so no one could send anything, message or other wise back through. Still frowning he walked away down the corridor, wondering is he had seen what he thought he had seen.


	22. Enough Loose Ends to Hang us With

**Author's note:** The next update will be out soon, I promise. Don't forget to review.

**Crumpets Aren't My Style**

**By Marz**

**Enough Loose Ends to Hang Us With**

"Do you truly believe she still lives?" Teal'c asked.

"The boy bent Ba'al's will enough to save our lives. He would fight even harder for her," Bre'tac said confidently.

Teal'c nodded. Parties were searching the ship for any other traps or tricks Ba'al might have left. Bre'tac had insisted on searching with them. He'd taken a shot to the leg fighting his way to the shield generators, but he refused to lie down and rest. The wizards had used their magic and found no trace of the missing woman, McGonagall. Still, Bre'tac insisted they look for her. Their search had already gone on for several hours, and Teal'c knew his teacher would not stop until he had found her, dead or alive.

They were passing the water storage tanks when Bre'tac stopped short. He tapped the side of one of the tanks with his staff weapon, which he had until that point been using as a crutch. There was a hollow gong.

"She is within!" he declared.

"How do you know?"

"I only know, not how or why!"

Bre'tac raised his staff weapon and fired, again and again until a small section of the wall glowed white hot, and finally melted into fuming orange slag. The old Jaffa knelt, sweat pouring down his face and peered into the hole. Something moved within.

"Professor?" he called, his voice echoing inside the tank. "Professor McGonagall! Answer me if you are able!"

A shadow appeared in the hole. Two tiny white circles of light reflected in its eyes. Suddenly the cat leapt forward, dancing carefully over the puddles of still-molten metal. Teal'c reached down to pick up the animal, but it dodged away and continued running down the hall.

"Professor McGonagall!" Bre'tac called.

The cat paused and looked back at them. Before, she had been a blur of gray motion but now that they could see her clearly, both were disturbed. The cat once again bore a collar, but this one seemed to be made of barbed wire. The cat's fur had been burned off in several places and one of its ears was raggedly torn.

"Do you not know me?" Bre'tac asked.

The cat let out a weak little mew.

"We have retaken the ship from the Goa'uld. Your own people have arrived on board. They are helping the boy as we speak," Bre'tac explained.

The cat swished its tail sharply and walked back to them. Bre'tac knelt and scooped up the tiny creature. He took the knife from his belt and tried to cut off the collar, but it resisted the blade.

"We will have to take her to her own people," Bre'tac concluded, and marched off down the hall with the animal who might also be a woman in his arms.

Teal'c paused for a moment to watch him go. He hadn't once questioned whether or not the cat truly was what Bre'tac claimed. He wondered idly if he would ever come across something he would be able to appreciate as strange again.

* * *

"I'm still not quite understanding your plan," Daniel Jackson said as he jogged along behind the two red-haired men.

They had been introduced as brothers, Bill and Charlie. The former was very tall with longish hair pulled back in a ponytail and a fang hanging from his ear. The other was stockier with shoulders almost as broad as Teal'c's and a much more conservative hair cut. Bill claimed to be a curse breaker who worked for goblins, while Charlie was a magical creatures expert. Charlie said he could deal with the problem in the Prometheus' mess hall, though his specialty was dragons.

"It's simple really," said Charlie. "A werewolf is a person infected with a cyclically activated transmogrifying curse. It's been theorized that direct and intense exposure to pure moonlight would effectively burn the curse out of the infected person."

"You do know that moonlight is just reflected sunlight?" Daniel asked.

Charlie shrugged.

"So what are you going to do?" asked Daniel.

"We're going to put him outside on the surface for a few minutes," Bill said.

"But there isn't any atmosphere on the moon. In all likelihood he'll just explosively decompress."

"Ah, muggles," Bill said in tone that was both friendly and condescending.

They came to a stop in one of the Goa'uld ship's ring rooms.

"I think we should just apparate," said Bill, looking around the gaudy, gold-themed room with suspicion.

"Here," Daniel said, waving them both onto the ring platform.

"So we just stand here?" asked Charlie. "We don't have to put on electric hats or shoes or something?"

"Um…no," said Daniel as he targeted the Prometheus and typed in the command code, with a three second delay. Bill started fidgeting.

"Stay!" Daniel ordered.

There was a loud electronic warbling and the rings leapt out of the floor. Bill and Charlie both brought up their hands as if to ward off a blow. White light flashed and in the next instant the rings were dropping into the deck of the Prometheus.

"The mess hall is this way," said Daniel after waving to the guards.

Bill and Charlie hurried along after him. They passed several windows on the way and the brothers let out appreciative whistles.

"Earth looks small," said Bill.

"In universal terms it is relatively small. Most of the planets we know of are actually gas giants, the size of Saturn or larger. Of course the worlds we visit are very similar to Earth in atmosphere and ecology, but there is also some evidence that those worlds were terra-formed…but we're here about the werewolf," Daniel said, cutting off his own ramblings.

They came to the door of the mess-hall, still seamlessly sealed from whatever Snape had done to it. Daniel took a notebook from his pocket and sketched out the mess hall, kitchen, and storage room. The two brothers hemmed and hawed over the drawing.

"So he could be in any one of these rooms?"

Daniel nodded.

"Alright. You stay here," said Bill.

"Uh…no," said Daniel, as he pulled his zat from its holster.

"You've never dealt with a werewolf before," said Charlie.

"And you have?" Daniel asked.

"Not in these exact circumstances," Charlie admitted.

"Is there any chance we'll be able to convince Lupin to come along quietly?" Daniel asked.

Charlie gave his a you-are-so-stupid look. "The werewolf isn't Lupin. It's just inhabiting him."

"Is it capable of basic reasoning?" Daniel asked. "How close is it to human intelligence?"

"What?" asked Charlie.

"I mean, do we have to worry about it setting up booby traps, or will it just act like a very large, rabid dog?"

"A werewolf is probably a little smarter then a dog, but they don't use tools," Charlie said after a moment's hesitation. "But don't underestimate it either. Bill and I will go in first. We'll look things over and you watch our backs."

Daniel withheld a sigh. Why did everyone expect him to nerd everything up? He didn't think he'd get better out of them so he nodded. Bill touched his wand to the seamless door and it opened before them.

All the overhead lights had been smashed. It was also obvious to everyone with a sense of smell that the werewolf had not been paper-trained. Bill raised his wand in the air and mumbled something Latin-ish. A small sphere of light formed at the tip of his wand and then darted to the center of the room, expanding as it went.

The tables in the mess hall had all been overturned, a few had even been broken in half. The storage lockers had been ripped open and napkins, cutlery, and packages of ketchup were alternately tossed and spattered about the room. Bill and Charlie darted in.

Daniel watched from the doorway, zat leveled as the two brothers searched the room. He had to admit they were fairly efficient, covering one another while they looked behind the overturned furniture. The werewolf wasn't there. Bill headed for the door leading to the kitchen. There were claw marks in it, five distinct lines, the last one in each set twisted in, implying that the thumb was not entirely gone. Bill tapped the door with his wand and it slid open. The ball of light he had conjured flew into the room before him.

Bill and Charlie went through the next door and Daniel moved in to cover their backs. Pots, pans, ladles, and every other implement that wasn't very solidly affixed to the walls had been scattered across the floor. It was impossible to take a step without the clink of metal under one's feet. The air was misty, cold, and wet. The doors of the huge refrigerators had been pulled off their hinges. One lay on the floor and the other was on its side, tilted up against the wall. The little fluorescent light in the refrigerator was still on, spilling a blue-ish glow over a punctured carton of milk and broken eggs.

Daniel suddenly felt watched. Bill and Charlie were already focusing on the open door of the storage room. Daniel looked around the kitchen again. The room was square with all the appliances and cabinets along the walls. His eyes were drawn to the tilted refrigerator door. There might be just enough room for a person to hide in that little triangle of space if they lay down.

Bill and Charlie darted into the storeroom wands at the ready. Bill's conjured light darted on ahead of them. Daniel activated his zat, but remained in the kitchen doorway. As the wizards disappeared from view the tilted refrigerator door twitched.

"It's still in-" Daniel didn't get to finish his sentence.

The broken door went flying across the room and the archaeologist stumbled backwards as a large gray blur lunged at him. The zat went off.

The monstrous thing fell twitching to the floor, but it was still conscious and Daniel barely managed to leap back in time to avoid its grasping claws. He aimed the zat at the creature as it tried to rise to its feet, slipping on the pans it had scattered across the floor. A second shot from the zat would kill a human. He didn't know what it would do to a werewolf.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

The werewolf gave a startled and very doglike yelp as it was lifted off its feet. Its legs kicked uselessly as it tried to turn towards its attackers. Charlie was standing in the storage room doorway with his wand pointed, and Bill sidled through the door behind him. All three men stood staring at the creature. Daniel finally had a clear look at it and was very disturbed by what he saw. There was no hint of Lupin's features in the animal before them, but the body looked more like a human's than a wolf's, fur, claws, tail, and snout aside.

They didn't have much trouble getting the creature back to the Goa'uld ship, though quite a few members of the Prometheus crew came to the ring room to gawk a bit before they left.

"What's that thing you shot him with?" asked Bill as the three of them walked from the Goa'uld ring room towards the ship's airlock.

"It's called a zatnikat'al. It's a Goa'uld designed weapon. Colonel Carter can explain how it works better than I can. The way I understand it, it temporarily superexcites electrons. It feels like an electrical shock but it's more complicated. One shot will knock most people unconscious, but we've noticed that if you're hit on a fairly regular basis, once every few months or so, you build up some immunity to it. A few people at the SGC can get up within minutes of being hit. Two shots in close proximity will kill and a third shot will make the electronic structure of the target's molecules so unstable that they literally fly apart."

Charlie and Bill both looked rather befuddled.

"What's an electron?" Bill asked.

Daniel was still trying to explain atoms to the Weasleys when they reached the airlock at the bottom of the ship. The werewolf had stopped its kicking and growling and seemed rather subdued. Charlie levitated it through into the tiny, gold-paneled room and Daniel pressed the button that closed the door.

They stood around waiting slightly awkwardly until the wizard called Albus Dumbledore arrived, with the three Healers in tow. Dumbledore smiled at everyone, giving off very strong doddering old man vibes. Daniel and the Weasleys stepped aside so he could peer through the small window into the air lock.

"It's been nearly twenty four hours since he transformed?" Dumbledore asked.

Daniel nodded. Dumbledore brought out his wand and touched it to the little window, which suddenly expanded until the entire airlock door was transparent. The werewolf lunged at it and bounced off with an injured yelp. Dumbledore muttered something else and suddenly the werewolf was hovering a few inches off the floor. It kicked about and Daniel got the impression that it was trapped in some kind of invisible bubble.

"Dr. Jackson," Dumbledore said. "If you would open the outside door?"

Daniel went to the panel with a sinking feeling. He thought it was worth one last try.

"You do know the radiation out there is enough to kill him. As someone who's died of radiation poisoning I can tell you, it's not a good way to go."

Dumbledore nodded kindly but waved for him to proceed. Daniel pressed the buttons.

* * *

Lupin watched as the door slid open. He was hurled into motion as if the ship had suddenly spat him out. He saw the gloriously white surface stretched out before him and felt it almost immediately. The madness seemed to rise up through his mind, the uncontrollable urge to bite and tear and kill became weightless, moving through him as if it could find no purchase. The feelings in his body were less pleasant. He was sure his bones had melted and were floating up through his skin. His eyes were squeezed shut from the pain, but with supreme effort he opened them. He could see the end of his own face, still more snoutlike than human, slowly shrinking, a black foul smoke rising from it and every other bit of himself that he could see.

He couldn't keep them open long. The pain was too great. He could feel the transformation reversing, much the same as it did at sunrise once every twenty-seven days. But this time he knew. He could feel it, and the creature inside him could feel it too.

The werewolf howled one final time and then vanished in the burning brightness of the moonlight.

Lupin knew he had blacked out then. One moment he was lying in a bubble charm on white rock and the next he was in a room paneled with gold, three women looking over him. He thought they were somewhat familiar. The werewolf had probably seen them. Its memories were never quite in synch with his own.

He sat up. No one tried to stop him. His whole body stung as he moved. Dumbledore, Charlie and Bill Weasley and the muggle Daniel Jackson were standing behind the three women, watching him as well. He looked down at himself. Someone had conjured a blanket over him, but the exposed flesh of his arms was red and scalded looking as if he had terrible sunburn.

He smiled. Then he started to laugh. He couldn't stop.

* * *

He added another cupful of frog's blood and stirred the cauldron. The potion should have been black with a layer of red rubbery solids at the bottom, but it remained a watery gray, refusing to thicken or separate. Snape stared into the brew, struggling to keep his temper in check.

Dumbledore had had the foresight to bring a potions kit with him, but he had miniaturized it for easy transportation. Ingredients that had been spelled simply didn't react the way they were supposed to. The headmaster should have known. It was one of the basic rules of potion making. He was considering adding some powdered moonstone when it woke up.

Dumbledore and the Healers had put wards in place to prevent him from using Potter's magic, and then chained him to a chair. Snape didn't see anything truly alien in Potter's behavior, it was almost predictable really. First he tried to wiggle out of the chains, and when that didn't work he tried "Alohamora", with no more success. His head came up and he looked around the room, eyes flashing with orange light as they came to rest on Snape.

"Release me," he demanded in low rumbling voice.

"No," Snape said, and went back to mixing his potion.

Instead of moonstone he added some Dead Sea silt. The potion turned a darker shade of gray, but it still wasn't quite right.

"Release me now and I will spare you," the thing wearing Potter said.

"Ba'al is it?" Snape asked, but did not wait for an answer. "In case you have not noticed, (and being an occupant of Potter's rather dense mind I find that very likely), you are in no position to make demands."

Ba'al stared at him for a moment, and then his expression changed from one of contempt to mild amusement.

"The host actually wants me to escape and kill you," Ba'al said, as if they were sharing a joke. "Perhaps you are not such a great waste of matter after all."

Snape snorted and added a quarter cup of windcrulp eggs to the brew. It finally began to separate, but the color still wasn't right. It didn't surprise him that Potter wanted him dead. The boy blamed him for everything from poor potion skills to the existence of the Dark Lord. Ba'al was still studying him when he looked up again.

"How would you like your own world?" Ba'al asked suddenly.

"What?" Snape said.

"Bribes frequently succeed where threats fail," Ba'al said. "Does a planet sound like a fair exchange for my freedom?"

"And where would you get a planet from?" Snape asked, stirring the potion absentmindedly. "You have the deed to Saturn in your back pocket, by chance?"

Ba'al snorted. "The muggles have told you nothing of us, have they? The Goa'uld rule half the galaxy. I have hundreds of habitable worlds in my possession."

Snape looked at him and realized he wasn't lying. For an idle moment he wondered what he would do with his own planet. No doubt it would end up filled with snot-nosed brats who couldn't mix a shrinking solution to save their own lives. He snorted.

"Humanity must indeed be in desperate straits if a thing such as you could overthrow them so easily. It seems threats and bribery have both failed you. Have you considered begging?" Snape asked sneering.

"I will kill the host before I let you take it from me."

"And what a terrible shame that would be," Snape said, watching the figure in the chair for any sign of the arrogant, self-possessed boy he'd grown to loath.

"Your master seems to think so."

"Yes the headmaster does want the disobedient little urchin de-wormed. You're inside his head. You can see his memories. You know it is within our power. If we decide to remove you there is nothing you can do about it."

"I have destroyed civilizations, conquered hundreds of worlds," the boy continued in a resonant and unnaturally low voice. "I saw your kind before the idea of a city ever came into your minds, and I will see the last of your cities burned to ashes. You are nothing!"

"I very much doubt you will be anything past this afternoon, either."

The Goa'uld glared at him but before the conversation could continue Albus Dumbledore strode into the room.

"You will excuse us for a moment," Dumbledore said to the occupant of the chair, waving his wand at Potter and conjuring up a baffle spell to keep him from overhearing.

"Severus," Dumbledore continued, "You'll be happy to hear that Remus not only survived, but is recovering rapidly, and appears to be completely cured. Minerva has turned up as well, in the arms of a rather dashing Jaffa, as fate would have it. He seems quite taken with her-"

Snape held up his hand to thwart further details. Dumbledore smiled and changed the subject, slightly.

"I think we might be able to make arrangements with the SGC to bring up others afflicted with lycanthropy. It would seriously disrupt Voldemort's influence over them."

"This is getting out of hand," Snape said as he put out the fire and set the potion on ice. The impurities of the brew began to crystallize and float to the surface.

"Whatever do you mean, Severus?" Dumbledore replied, a happy, almost childlike smile on his face.

Though Snape was more thankful than anyone that the headmaster was acting himself again, he didn't miss the bizarre favoritism and illogical faith that had come back stronger than ever.

"The muggles will not keep their word. They will make records of their encounter with us. They will reveal us to the world."

"Severus, if any muggles can keep a secret, it is these."

"And what proof have you of that?"

"Serverus, my dear suspicious friend, we are in an alien spacecraft, parked on the surface of the moon."

Snape glared and then glanced out the window at the bright gray and white surface that covered the distance to a much too near horizon.

"I still do not trust them."

There was a knock on the door and a moment later it slid open. General O'Neill stood in the entrance for a moment, as if uncertain whether or not he was welcome. He'd found some new clothes to replace his battered flight suit. They bore no insignia, and if he hadn't been introduced as a General, there would have been no reason to think he was one.

"Do come in," called Dumbledore.

The muggle approached them calmly. He had a slight swagger in his stride, which Snape found annoyingly familiar.

"So," O'Neill said in friendly sort of way, "What's up?"

"The sky of course," answered Dumbledore, "But you are more likely referring to the communications I have been making with the remains of our government. They have been, I am sorry to say, rather dense. I have attempted to explain to them the source of the attack was extraterrestrial, but they simply refuse to believe it."

"I wish we had that sort of problem back home," O'Neill said, peering into the cauldron. "What's this?"

"It is a potion," Snape said.

"Well duh," O'Neill said.

Snape didn't know the meaning of that phrase but he was fairly certain it was insulting. He glared at the muggle.

"It should isolate Harry's consciousness from the creature's before we remove the parasite," Dumbledore explained.

O'Neill nodded. "I don't think you really need that."

"And you are an expert in matters of mind control?" Snape asked.

O'Neill shrugged. "I've dealt with Goa'uld for the past decade. Considering you only found out they existed yesterday, I thought you might actually want to know something about them. You know, for example, that the symbiote can kill the host if it thinks it's going to be removed, things like that. To get to the point, we're not going to let you near the kid unless it looks like you have some idea of what you're doing."

Snape sneered. "And what do you think you could do to stop us?"

O'Neill's mouth quirked as if he were thinking of something very amusing, but apparently decided not to vocalize it. Snape tried to catch his eye, wondering what could give him such confidence. But the muggle refused to look at him.

"Have you fixed the thing on his chest yet?" O'Neill asked.

"What thing would that be?" Dumbledore asked.

Snape felt an unwelcome rush of surprise. He remembered Bellatrix carving the mark into Potter's chest, but it had slipped his mind. O'Neill walked up to the restrained teenager and pulled open the front of Potter's robes, revealing the dark mark. The lines of the mark were an irritated red. Snape checked his own forearm, and found his mark was the same color, rather then the fetid bruised black it had been on Earth. Dumbledore wandered over, suddenly less cheerful. He inspected it for several minutes, every once and a while looking over his shoulder at Snape, a gesture O'Neill would mimic much to Snape's annoyance.

"I may be able to remove this," Dumbledore said. "But at the moment I don't think it's a priority."

"It catches on fire sometimes," O'Neill said.

Dumbledore looked at him over the top of his spectacles.

"That's why we sent him off world," O'Neill continued. "It seems to have a limited range, only a few thousand miles. We haven't been able to get it off though."

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "I will confer with healer Peebles, but I think we must still deal with this Ba'al entity first."

O'Neill shrugged.

"Severus, would you please bring the potion here if it is ready," Dumbledore said.

Snape glared at them but took a goblet full of the potion and carried it over. Dumbledore forced the boy's mouth open with a spell and Snape tipped the potion in. Potter coughed and strangled, but finally choked it down. The three men stood watching.

Potter swallowed again, as if to clear the last of the goopy gray stuff from his throat, blinked twice and proceeded to scream. Snape dropped the goblet he was holding, flinching away from the sudden sound. Dumbledore stepped forward, placing a hand over Potter's eyes. The screaming faded away to a pained wail and then to a groan.

"Harry can you hear me?" Dumbledore asked.

"urk…p-p Professor Dumbledore?"

"I am here, Harry."

"I…I'm sorry…I'm…sorry. I killed them. I killed all of them. I couldn't stop him. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

His voice faded to a low mumbling and his breathing came in harsh rasps. The old man lifted his hand, revealing the boy's bloodshot and watering eyes. O'Neill stepped forward.

"Listen, alright? None of this was your fault. If Ba'al hadn't crawled into your head he'd have gotten the next person who came along. If you hadn't a been there it would have happened to somebody else and the same stuff would've happened, only maybe somebody else wouldn't have been able to give Ba'al such a run around and we wouldn't be here. As it is, you've just got to hang on a little longer and then we'll have you back to your old self, playing cribbage."

"Quidditch," corrected Dumbledore.

"What?" asked O'Neill.

"I destroyed the school," Potter said.

"Actually," corrected Dumbledore, "You did not. As I was explaining earlier to the creature in your head, you misidentified an abandoned castle in Aberdeen Shire as the school. Sadly, the castle is no more, but no lives were lost, and Aberdeen Shire now has an 'Impact Crater' to garner a new tourist market. Hogwarts is actually quite a distance from the area destroyed, not that it didn't give us quite a turn when those staying at the castle for Christmas saw fire falling from the sky."

"But the Ministry, Ron's dad…"

"Sadly there was a significant loss of life in that area of London, Wizarding and Muggles both. Though it was no fault of your own, it may console you that Mr. Weasley was not at his desk at the time of the incident. He and the majority of ministry personnel with field training were, in fact, out in the field. Most others in the building disapparated after the initial impact."

"I didn't destroy the school?" Potter asked.

"Certainly not."

"I thought… It knows what I know, I tried to hide it but…"

"I told you that complete lack of geographical knowledge would come in useful some day," O'Neill quipped.

Potter smiled at him, but went back to his expression of tortured guilt a second later. Snape assumed he was racking up major sympathy points with the headmaster.

"Is it-" Potter started to ask. "Is it still in me?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Professor Snape's potion only suppresses the entity, Ba'al I believe it called itself? The Healers are making final preparations for its removal as we speak. They don't believe the separation will damage either of you."

"You're going to kill it aren't you?" Potter hissed, more of a demand then a question.

Dumbledore's eyes widened in surprise. He seemed about to say something soothing but O'Neill spoke first.

"Of course we are," the muggle growled. "How about we put it in the microwave?"

"I do not think vengeance will help," Dumbledore started.

"It won't help the snake," O'Neill said agreeably.

"I want it to die! I want it to die. I want it…" Potters voice trailed off.

Dumbledore leaned forward in concern. The boy's head came up, eyes glowing.

"It was nice while it lasted," muttered O'Neill.

* * *

Remus Lupin looked at his scarred hands, holding them above his head and inspecting them in different light and from different angles. From now on they would remain human hands; plain old human hands. He'd have to worry about hangnails popping up rather then claws. He shook a bit as another laugh escaped him.

"Are you certain he is well?" asked a slightly gruff male voice from the other side of the room.

Remus attention was drawn away from his hands to the old Jaffa standing beside Professor McGonagall's bed on the other side of the makeshift infirmary. Remus couldn't help it. He started laughing again.

"I'm certain that he's fine," said Professor McGonagall in a rasping voice. "Though it would be nice if he could quiet down a bit so some of us could get some sleep."

"Sorry," Remus called.

He knew she was still feeling under the weather. The collar Ba'al had put on her to prevent her from becoming human again had damaged her vocal cords and the healers had only just finished with her. Remus wanted to ask her what had happened during the months she'd been missing, but he knew he'd have to wait until she was feeling better.

He shifted in his bed and tried to sleep, but the stinging feeling hadn't faded from his skin and his eyelids refused to stay down. He did manage to sit quietly for a few minutes, but when healer Walsh came in, he couldn't resist telling her how human he felt. She said she'd make a note that giddiness was a side effect of the cure. Walsh tried to put a mild sleeping charm on him, but it didn't take. McGonagall had just recommended stunning him when Daniel Jackson walked in.

"Oh…am I…interrupting something?" he asked looking between the annoyed witches, the Jaffa, and the former werewolf.

"No," answered McGonagall. "Remus seems to be having trouble sleeping. Perhaps you could take him on a tour of the ship, or the hallway at least."

"Alright," Daniel said, pushing his glasses up his nose. "I was just about to visit Sam in the Death Glider bay. Most of them were lost in the original battle for the ship, but she's disabling the homing program in the rest of them."

"Let's go then," Remus said, literally hoping out of bed.

"You might want to put some pants on first," Daniel suggested.

* * *

He listened contentedly to the flap and snap of the cloth as he walked. The headmaster had finally transfigured a decent set of robes for him out of a spare set of muggle fatigues. Snape had attempted to do it himself, but his borrowed wand just wasn't up to the challenge. The ship was mostly empty, but he had passed a patrol of Jaffa several corridors back. The Healers had insisted that all of them were free of the imperious curse Potter had put them under, but their stony expressionless faces didn't lead Snape to the same conclusion.

The Healers would be starting any minute now. Snape's eyes went to the ceiling. Eighteen levels up they would be prying the parasite out of Potter's brain. He supposed Dumbledore had thought he would enjoy watching too much, thus his current assignment. He was supposed to use the mirror to contact Molly Weasley at Grimmauld place and get a report on all recent sightings of Death Eaters.

He heard whispering, echoing around the next turn in the corridor, too low to make out the words. It was the corridor where they had hung the mirror. His borrowed wand was already in his hand. He rounded the corner, slinking into the shadows.

William Bennet was touching his wand to the mirror, blurring the image of whomever he was conversing with, and severing the connection. Bennet turned away from the mirror and started.

"Some pressing matter at home require your attention?" Snape asked. "Making certain your wife hasn't run off with a traveling cauldron salesman perhaps?"

Snape watched him unblinking, but Bennet would not meet his eye.

"I was just checking in with my office," Bennet said, focusing his gaze on Snape's forehead. "Our government is rather in shambles if you hadn't noticed."

"And you simply had to check your investments despite Dumbledore's explicit orders forbidding all communication for the next twelve hours?"

"I wasn't doing any harm," Bennet said, gaze slipping down to meet Snape's, and showing himself to be a liar.

Snape fired off a stunning hex, but Bennet blocked it.

"Are you mad?" he shouted at Snape, backing up.

Snape responded by sending another stunner his way.

"Stay away from me!" Bennet nearly shrieked.

Snape pointed his wand at the floor. The polished surface bulged and a wave of force flowed toward Bennet. The other man watched the moving floor carefully, timed the wave's approach, and leapt. He did not even come close to clearing it, and landed on the floor face first for his efforts. Snape summoned his wand away.

He was about to cast a binding charm when a familiar sensation clamped down on his left forearm. From the floor at his feet, Bennet began to laugh.

* * *

"And they require no magic at all?" Lupin asked, looking up in wonder.

"They use a sort of anti-inertia generator which we haven't quite figured out the physics of," Carter said, "But there's nothing in the Death Gliders that we haven't at least taken the first steps in explaining."

Lupin nodded, having trouble taking his eyes off the sleek craft which hung suspended between narrow catwalks, like nesting birds of prey. For a few minutes in a row he was able to think about something other than what happened on the surface. The giddiness had faded a bit on the way down through the bowels of the ship. Daniel was explaining how the Gliders tended to run off with their passengers, stranding them without air in the freezing void of space. Remus made interested noises whenever Daniel stopped talking, but he wasn't really listening to the words.

His ears didn't ring painfully with every sound and odors he usually found nearly overpowering were dull and almost impossible to detect. But as he turned around and saw what was behind their little tour group, he realized just how useful a werewolf's heightened senses were at times.

"Down!" he shouted.

Carter and Daniel dropped to the deck, bringing up their guns and turning, still crouched to aim at the five people in black robes and white masks coming up the catwalk behind them.

* * *

"So they're just going to open up the back of his head and pull it out?" O'Neill asked, watching the three healers suspiciously.

"Essentially, yes," the ancient man said.

O'Neill looked slightly worried. "It's just that we've tried that before and the results weren't exactly…good. We usually call in the Tok'ra."

"But you do not seem to trust them," Dumbledore said. "I get the feeling you want nothing to do with them."

O'Neill shrugged. "I don't like them, but they've never screwed up anything like this."

"But they will take weeks to arrive, if not months," Dumbledore said.

"We're quarantined on the moon for the next month at least. We'll be waiting either way, and I'd rather put up with a few more weeks of listening to the pointless ranting of the parasite then risk lobotomizing the kid."

"I assure you General, these healers have preformed very similar procedures."

"You said your people had never run into the Goa'uld," O'Neill said.

"Those creatures in particular, no. But Earth offers some equally…nasty creatures, which my people have learned to deal with."

"Like what?"

"Oh Mind-leeches, Incubi, and not five years ago there were some fascinating cave spiders discovered in New Mexico. I believe they entered through the ear. Apparently a mining consortium released them; it was quite a scandal. When the N.A.W.C. officials first arrived on the scene they mistook it for an uncontrolled summoning of Zombies and the situation only got worse from there."

"Hu…right."

"If you are still concerned, you are welcome to stay and witness the procedure."

O'Neill screwed up his face for a moment, and then sighed. "Let's get on with it."

The kid was already levitating when they entered the room. The three women in gray dresses he'd seen earlier were there, and at that moment they truly looked like witches. Each of them had a wand in one outstretched hand and a fistful of smoldering something in the other. They circled the kid, seeming to glide more then walk around him.

There was a strange buzzing in O'Neill's ears and he was tempted to ask if anyone else heard it, but thought better of it as white light started to pour from the kid's mouth and he began to rotate in midair. The boy tumbled until he was face down. One of the witches, made indistinguishable from the others by the gray cowl she had over her head, put her wand to the back of the kid's neck. Even from this distance O'Neill could see the parasite twitching under the skin in response.

The kid gagged but no one else seemed concerned. A line of light ran up the back of the kid's skull, visible even through the layers of unruly hair. Then suddenly the back of his head was peeling itself open. O'Neill could see the green-gray body of the Goa'uld, moving slightly out of synch with the pulses of blood that moved the rest of the tissue to the beat of the boy's heart.

One of the witches raised up her hand and the floor shook. O'Neill squinted concernedly and took a step towards the floating boy. It seemed like a lot of special effects when they could be pulling the thing out already. A hand on his shoulder made him turn. The shaking grew worse.

"That is not our doing," Dumbledore said.

O'Neill was reaching for his radio when the door slid open. The hallway was dark, and smoke drifted into the room. A high hissing came from the darkness.

"No, old man. It is mine."


	23. Three to One Odds

**Author's note:** Ha ha! An update! Sorry it took so long. I had writer's block. Don't forget to review.

**Crumpets Aren't My Style**

**By Marz**

**Three to One Odds**

O'Neill moved. It was no simple matter of turning and running. The whole floor came alive, twisting and buckling, forcing O'Neill to scramble and crawl to get out of the line of fire. Chunks of decorative paneling tore themselves from the wall and whipped themselves through the air. He ducked and looked up just in time to see the panel he'd dodged hit a cowering witch in the head.

He only had his 9mm. He hadn't taken his P90 into surgery, but given all the weird crap that happened in the SGC infirmary, he wondered why he hadn't. Then again, a P90 probably wouldn't have done him much good in this situation anyway.

Dumbledore was throwing lightning and bringing the floor to life. Voldemort filled the room with shadows that snatched at O'Neill as he tried to cross the room and burned like acid when they managed to touch him. The highly disrupted space was also starting to fill with smoke.

The walls were at that point riddled with holes and O'Neill saw a bare foot disappear through one of them. With a final glance at the two battling Wizards, he crawled through after. One of the witches had gotten out and was stumbling down through the dark to the faint light reflecting around the end of the corridor. She had both her shoes. O'Neill looked the other way and thought he saw something moving against the blackness.

There was a flash of green light in the room he'd just left behind and the floor in the hallway started to buckle. O'Neill took off after what he was pretty sure was Ba'al. The kid would have stayed with the witch. He followed the sound of now running feet through the dark, around several corners and into a cargo hold in which the lights were still functioning. He saw a pile of empty crates in one corner and a ring platform outlined on the floor. He hadn't heard it activate, though. Still the Goa'uld had managed to vanish.

"Crap."

There must have been some sort of secret door in one of the walls. O'Neill thought they were pretty close to Ba'al's personal chambers, so a great number of secret passages would not have surprised him. He decided to give each of the walls a quick once over and then head for Ba'al's rooms, two decks directly below if he remembered the lay of the ship correctly.

A faint shimmering in the air was the only warning he got. He started to turn but a sudden crushing pressure pinned him to the wall. At first he thought it was some sort of gravity-generating booby trap, but then all the pressure moved to his neck and he was lifted off his feet.

"The muggle," hissed a high and distorted voice.

O'Neill tried to turn and bring up his gun, but it flew from his hand. The world was turning red at the edges and he struggled for air. He kicked against the wall and managed to flip himself around. He looked into glowing red eyes and it felt as if his head were splitting open.

"Where is the boy?"

The question seemed to drill right into his brain, bypassing his ears entirely.

* * *

Lupin stumbled back a step, bumping painfully into the railing, which had been twisted and deformed by a blasting hex. He brought up his wand, hurling a globe of red light that caught one of the Death Eaters in the chest and knocked him off the catwalk. One of his companions tried to catch him with a levitation spell but missed and the dark robed-figure dropped out of sight down the Death Glider exit shaft.

Carter's P90 was pressed to her shoulder; the rapid fire of the weapon shook her whole body. The explosive echoes only added to the chaos in the glider bay. Daniel Jackson was using a P90 as well, since a disarming charm stole the zat from his hands. It hadn't been quite strong enough to tear away the larger gun strapped to his back. Lupin couldn't help but be impressed by the muggle soldiers' teamwork. Whenever Carter had to reload, Jackson was firing and vice versa, the hangar was never quiet.

The Death Eaters fell back under the hail of bullets and curses. The enemy couldn't drop their wards and shielding charms long enough to fire any really serious spells at them, and they simply weren't as good at dodging in the low cover environment of the hangar as the muggles were. Lupin for a moment felt they were making progress, but then he blinked and where four Death Eaters had been standing there were three. The air behind him crackled and he whirled, already shouting a hex, but not fast enough.

The catwalk bucked under their feet. The end in front of them tore completely free and flung itself about like a worm trying to escape a robin's beak. Carter and Lupin caught hold of the railing but Daniel missed his grab for it and was flung over the side. Lupin tried to aim a levitation spell at him, but the metal walkway to which they clung continued to bend and kick, he couldn't get a clear shot. Jackson fell, but the force that had thrown him over the side was still carrying him towards the opposite wall of the exit shaft. He swung the strap of his P90 at the wall and it caught on some protuberance too small to see from the catwalk. He jerked to a stop, feet swinging over a hundred-foot drop.

The three Death Eaters strode confidently toward them and Carter risked letting go with one hand to take a few shots at them. One fell backward shuddering and did not get up again. The two remaining came more carefully.

"Petrificus Totalus," called a woman's voice from behind him.

By the time he heard it, it was too late and he was unable to turn around. He stiffened, unable to move, hands still locked to the bucking catwalk.

"Accio guns!" called one of the Death Eaters approaching from the other side.

Carter's weapons flew away from her. She glanced back at Lupin. There was nothing she could do to help. Lupin was quite certain they were all going to die, and then Carter let go of the catwalk.

For a moment all Lupin could feel was horror, but in that moment Carter pushed off the catwalk just as it gave another kick. Instead of falling over the railing and down one of the shafts, she sailed over the heads of the two approaching Death Eaters, landing on the catwalk behind them with a thud and springing back to her feet before they could get completely turned around. She sprinted up the catwalk, dodging and ducking curses until she made it to the doors at the far end. She stopped there, doing something to the door controls.

"Get her!" shrieked the female Death Eater behind Lupin.

He recognized the voice, then.

"Finite," said Bellatrix Lestrange, and the catwalk went still.

She looked over the edge at Dr. Jackson, trying to cling to the wall with no way to get back up and a hundred feet of empty space below. She turned away to focus on Lupin. She walked around him and pulled the wand from his frozen hand. Bellatrix Lestrange removed her mask and smiled at him.

"Tell Sirius hello from me," she said.

Lupin could only stare at her as she raised her wand and with a great flourish brought it back down.

"Avada Kedavra!"

* * *

They were coming and she couldn't find the right wire. In frustration she yanked the control crystals from the wall and dove to the ground, rolling under the door as it dropped closed. As her view of the Death Glider hangar grew ever smaller her eyes darted from the two men chasing her to the woman standing over Lupin. She saw the green light wash over him.

The door met the floor with an almost inaudible thump and she crawled to her feet. It took her a few staggering steps to get her balance. She recognized that light. It was the same one that had almost struck her in the graveyard all those months ago. She knew Lupin was dead. She had left him and he had died.

Carter was a soldier. She knew there were situations when you had to think about the bigger picture. Her radio was dead and she had to warn the rest of the ship. She didn't even have her gun.

"_I couldn't have saved him_," she told herself, not at all convinced.

But there might be time to save Daniel. If she could find the gravity generator power relay she could drop the Glider hangar into lunar surface gravity. Daniel could let go of the wall and fall away from the attackers with minimal harm. Even as the plan formed in her mind she heard three sharp cracking sounds behind her. She looked back over her shoulder and ducked just in time to avoid a red jet of light. The two men from the cargo bay were running towards her and the woman was walking slowly behind. Carter increased her pace and the men fell behind. At least they weren't bothering Daniel.

* * *

The healers had been gone no more then half an hour when the lights in the makeshift infirmary went out. McGonagall's wand bit into the darkness. There was a faint buzzing sound and an orange light flared for a moment to her left; a staff weapon activating.

"Stay here," said Bre'tac in a low voice.

"I most certainly will not," McGonagall said, pushing aside her blankets and putting her bare and slightly shaking feet on the floor.

She allowed the lumos charm to fade and began to trace a detection spell in the air. It was a faint shimmering square in the darkness. As she watched, tiny red lights appeared and faded. Stunning curses were being used nearby; a lot of them. Then green lights started popping up and she gasped.

"Killing curses," she said quietly. "No one in the Order would use those. There are other wizards aboard this vessel, probably Death Eaters."

She dropped the detection spell and brought back her light. They walked through the corridor, toward the room where Potter had been taken to have the Parasite removed, and came upon a dead end. The ceiling had melted into the floor. McGonagall considered simply apparating past the blockage but that would be foolhardy without some sort of idea of what was on the other side. The deck shuttered beneath their feet. Bre'tac took off down the hall and she hurried after him.

"We must secure the Pel'tak," Bre'tac said. "This is the best way."

As they turned the next corner, they realized the Death Eaters had come to the same conclusion.

* * *

"Where is Potter?"

The question echoed in his head and against his will O'Neill's mouth started moving.

"He's still in there," O'Neill heard himself answer. "But he's not alone."

He tried not to speak, but it was like freshman year at the Air Force Academy, when his roommate Thomas had smuggled in about a gallon of Tequila and decided to share. An upperclassman had come in for inspection and O'Neill hadn't been able to keep his mouth closed. This was a similar situation, except with words.

"Who is with Potter?" Voldemort hissed.

"His god," answered a low echoing voice from behind him.

Voldemort started to turn but Ba'al was practically standing on Voldemort's heels. There was no way to dodge the ribbon device. An orange halo enveloped the wizard's head and Voldemort let out a hissing shriek.

O'Neill dropped to the ground. It took him an eternity to convince the air that it should be inside his lungs. He dragged himself away from the battling Dark Lords. Ba'al was just working up a smirk when the air between him and his victim rippled and the Goa'uld was sent flying backwards across the room. Voldemort staggered forward, tripping over O'Neill's feet with his hands clutched to his head. If it was anyone else, O'Neill might have felt pity. Ribbon devices were very effective at scrambling one's brain.

Ba'al was already back on his feet, throwing green light from his apparently empty right hand. Voldemort dodged and sent black lightning towards the Goa'uld from the tip of his wand. Ba'al raised his personal shield and the not-quite electricity played harmlessly over the surface. For a long moment the two inhuman beings stared at each other. Glowing orange eyes met smoldering red. Then the battle rejoined.

O'Neill rolled to avoid a stray shot from the ribbon device and scrambled for the meager shelter of the doorway. He needed to find a weapon. He needed to warn the rest of ship and organize enough Jaffa to throw these nut jobs off the ship, but he couldn't take his eyes off the battle.

CRACK!

CRACK!

O'Neill looked behind him as Charlie and Bill Weasley stepped out of thin air in the corridor outside the cargo bay. They peered past O'Neill and ducked back as one of the combatants pitched green light in their direction.

"You-Know-Who!" Charlie Weasley said, as if that were somehow very significant.

"We've got to help Harry," Bill said, looking at the wand clutched in his fist as if it was woefully insignificant.

"It's still not Harry," O'Neill said.

The redheads turned to look at him.

"Ba'al is still in the driver's seat. Pink-eye over there showed up before they could pop out the parasite. If you stick your head in there, either one of them could take it off. Any idea what's going on in the rest of the ship?"

Bill nodded. "Teal'c has the Jaffa organized. It looks like most of the Death Eaters Voldemort brought up with him are second rate. They're on the run, but the aliens aren't in very good shape. They've got numbers on their side, but they can't keep wizards cornered. They just apparate somewhere else."

"Can't you make it so they can't uh…apparate?" O'Neill asked.

Bill frowned. "It's in the works right now, but any ward we could set up **He** could just knock down. McGonagall sent us to find Dumbledore, but…we can't."

O'Neill looked Bill in the eye. "I didn't see him go down, but I don't think he'll be able to help you."

Bill nodded stone-faced, but his brother looked as if he might cry.

"How long would it take Evil V over there to break through one of those ward things and start popping up wherever he feels like?" O'Neill asked, an idea forming.

"I could stall him thirty seconds at most," Bill said.

"More then enough time," O'Neill muttered, looking back into the room.

More then enough time if he could get Ba'al to cooperate.

"I need to get to the Pel'tak," O'Neill said to Bill. He turned to Charlie. "And I need you to find Carter."

* * *

Snape stepped into the glider bay, wand leveled. There was a faint scrabbling sound, the sound of mice in the walls. There were two bodies on the deformed catwalk ahead of him; one in black Death Eater's robes, the other in muggle fatigues. He walked towards them, stopping by the Death Eater to remove his mask.

"Crawsher, no loss there," he muttered.

He intended to go right past the muggle in fatigues. The stiff and unmarked body was obviously the end result of the killing curse, but as he stepped over the corpse his eyes were drawn to the dead man's face.

Lupin stared blankly up at the ceiling. His expression wasn't one of terror frozen in its last moments, only mild surprise, as if his last thoughts were "I'm fairly certain I'm not supposed to be dead". Snape paused, looking down at the body. He was surprised to find himself faintly sad and more then a little disappointed.

The scrabbling came again, pulling him from his thoughts. Snape glanced over the side of the catwalk and saw the muggle, Jackson clinging by the tips of his fingers to his gun, whose strap was the only thing preventing him from plummeting down a hundred-foot shaft. The strap was hooked over a tiny protuberance of metal, which must have been fairly sharp because it had frayed the strap to an ever thinner mass of threads.

Snape waved his wand and levitated Jackson back to the catwalk.

"Thanks," the muggle said, shaking out his arms.

Jackson began inspecting his gun then, with little clicks and clacks of adjustment. When it was apparently in order he removed his jacket and set it over Lupin, closing his eyes and covering his face.

"They went that way," Jackson said pointing with his gun. "Three of them, chasing Carter. I'm going after them."

Without another word he turned and jogged down the catwalk. It took him a minute to get the door of the hanger open. He paused to look around, and then charged through. Snape paused, giving the bodies one last look before following Jackson at a much more dignified pace. He doubted they'd find the woman alive.

* * *

Carter hooked her fingers into the decorative filigree and pulled herself up. She could hear them coming, making no effort to hide the sound of their pounding feet. There was barely enough space on the top of the door frame for the heels of her boots. She had to put one hand on the ceiling just to balance in the crouched position.

The excessive decoration not-so-tastefully identified this doorway as one of the ship's pressure seals. If someone blew a hole in the hull, a door would drop down and the frame had to be strong enough to support it. It was about an inch thicker then the normal ones. Her legs shook with strain, and the pounding feet grew closer. She reached back with her left hand and pulled the hunting knife from her belt. The five-inch blade was her last weapon.

The first man passed beneath her without breaking stride, and she let herself hope that she'd be able to double back and find gun and a com station to warn the rest of the ship. The second man stopped right under her feet. Carter strained her ears, but she couldn't hear the woman's footfalls. Perhaps she'd gone to another part of the ship and left the other two to finish her off.

"Hold up!" called the man standing under Carter. "The tracking spell says she stopped-"

Carter's landing wasn't graceful, but the man with her boot prints on the top of his head had more to complain about. He crumpled under her and she slammed onto his back, knocking the air out of both their lungs.

"Avada Kedavra!" shouted the first man, who'd finally gotten his act together and turned around.

Carter threw herself out of the way, and man number two to let out a gasping "no!" before the light hit him square in the face. Carter didn't wait for a second spell. She sprang to her feet still winded, shifted the knife to her right hand and threw.

"Ow!"

The Death Eater yelped and Carter cursed as the handle of the knife hit her opponent in the eye, bouncing with a clatter to the ground. Without thinking, Carter charged forward. He was bigger than she was, but it was a lot more fat than muscle. Her shoulder caught him in the sternum just as he was bringing up his wand. His head bounced off the floor and her momentum sent Carter somersaulting forward over him. He hadn't dropped his wand, though, and she was forced to leapfrog over a jet of red light.

She dived at the fallen Death Eater who seemed to be having trouble getting up and slammed her fist into his throat. He gagged, but the wand was aimed at her again, flaring with a purple light that she barely dodged. She rolled away and there was a sudden sharp pain in her hip. She spared it a glance and realized she'd rolled over her knife. She snatched it up and lunged forward again. She sunk it up to the hilt in the Death Eater's chest.

CRACK!

The knife had disappeared from her hand and the man had disappeared from the floor. She was just getting back to her feet when the light struck, the word reaching her as she writhed on the floor.

"Crucio!"

* * *

The creature raised the boy's hand and brought up another shimmering wall of force to deflect the blasting hex Voldemort threw at it. He could feel Potter fluttering about inside his own mind, trying to exert some control over his body. In spite of the situation the Dark Lord found himself fascinated. If the creature was able to reign in that insufferable boy it would be of infinite use. The boy had overcome the Imperious curse after all.

Voldemort raised his own shield as a fist of force flew from the strange bit of jewelry wrapped around the boy's left hand. As curious as he was about the creature's abilities he couldn't risk letting Potter live. Perhaps he would keep the boy's head for study. He raised his wand.

"Mordsmorde cendio!"

Potter's entire body shook as green flames erupted from the mark burned into his chest, and he could hear the boy's agonized thoughts echoing around the chamber, but the creature was unaffected. It cast a killing curse at him. The rising flames strangely highlighted the sneer twisting the boy's face. He spoke.

"I have lived hundreds of lifetimes human. Do you truly harbor some arrogant thought of destroying me? If this body fails there are others nearby."

Voldemort did not respond to the taunting, instead he sent another blasting hex at the boy. He would most definitely keep the head.

* * *

She knew it was useless, but when the laughing woman stopped, Carter dragged herself to her feet again. She managed five steps before the curse hit her again. She didn't know how long it had been going on. It couldn't have been more then a few minutes. The witch would hit her with the green light and it hurt so badly all she could do was scream, and then she would let up and allow Carter to run a few feet before hitting her again; cat and mouse.

Carter clenched her teeth and tried to focus. She'd formed a plan somewhere in midst of the agony. It wasn't much of one. She was trying to get to a weapon or a ring platform or even some broken glass. It let up and she ran again. There was a flash of green light and she dodged. The light missed and she picked up her staggering pace. At the end of the corridor, she saw it. If it wasn't for Jolanar's memories she probably wouldn't have known what it was. At least she thought she knew. If that wasn't a concealed door she didn't know if she could continue. Another light flashed and she lunged forward. Even as the pain returned she leaned against the wall, her hands scrabbling over the glyphs, searching for the trigger. Her knees gave out but her fingers were curled around a bird with outstretched wings. It twisted.

There was a hiss and the door slid open. The witch must have been very surprised because she let up on the curse. Carter crawled into the room, not caring if there were booby traps inside.

"Now where are you going?" the witch asked in a singsong voice.

Carter managed to lift her head. On the other side of the room she saw a light. Two ribbon devices and a hand device sat in a recessed shelf, shining and gold. It didn't seem very important, but she noted that there was an empty place where another ribbon device would have sat. She was dragging herself toward them when something huge caught her by the back of the neck and lifted her off the floor.

"Is that what you want?" the witch asked, nodding towards the shelf.

Carter didn't respond. The witch waved her wand and flung Carter across the room. She slammed into the shelf. Her foot hit the ribbon devices, knocking them out of their cradles and onto the floor. She dropped down among them and her hands stretched toward salvation. Then she was caught by the back of the neck and thrown at the opposite wall.

"Uh-uh, you didn't say please," the witch laughed.

Carter ignored her and dragged herself across the floor, fingers bent into bloody claws.

"Does the little muggle think the pretty things are going to help it?" the dark haired woman asked in a childlike voice. Carter said nothing, moving slowly toward the ribbon device that had been knocked to the floor in the one sided firefight. Her hand slid into the molded metal loops of the ribbon device.

She had no words; only a tormented shriek escaped her as she rolled holding the ribbon device between them like a talisman. The dark haired woman pointed the wand toward her. Carter ignored her, feeling the machinery in the gauntlet activate and struggle to interpret her orders. She couldn't send it commands as clearly as a Goa'uld could, but what she wanted wasn't particularly specific.

A faint glow came from the crystal in the palm of the ribbon device. A pulse of force threw the witch backwards across the room. She struck the wall with enough force to dent the decorative gold paneling.

Carter struggled to her feet, the ribbon device still held before her. The witch lay sprawled against the wall, blood smeared where her head had struck. Carter took a few steps backward, and then slumped to the ground. She couldn't get the shaking to stop.

* * *

Charlie stepped over another body and hurried down the hall. He heard a voice in the corridor ahead of him and stopped. He would recognize that silky derisive tone anywhere. It had assigned him unwarranted detentions on far to many occasions to be forgotten. He turned the corner and saw Snape and the muggle Daniel Jackson moving quickly down the corridor ahead of them.

"Hey!" Charlie hissed, not wanting to surprise them and get shot.

Jackson turned gun leveled, but Snape just rolled his eyes as if Charlie had just breached some battle protocol. Charlie jogged to catch up with the others.

"O'Neill sent me to find Colonel Carter. He's got some kind of plan to take out You-Know-Who, and he needs her to do…uh…something."

"We think Sam's near here. We heard screaming, but it just stopped. This way," Jackson said, not slowing his pace.

They hurried through the halls, suddenly coming upon a dead end.

"Hidden door," Jackson muttered, stretching out his hands to press and pull on several of the glyphs standing out on the wall. He twisted a bird and the wall split open.

The room it revealed was in shambles, but it was also small so the three men were able to take in all the details in less then a second. Carter sat hunched on the floor shoulders shaking. There were ribbon devices scattered on the floor around her and one on her hand. Bellatrix Lestrange was slumped against the wall, dead.

"Sam!" Jackson shouted dropping down next to her.

She didn't answer. He tipped her chin up and stared into her eyes.

"Pupils are normal," he declared.

Charlie didn't know what to make of that comment, but he nodded encouragingly. Snape had wandered over to inspect Lestrange.

"The force used cracked her skull like an egg," the Potions Professor said, sounding somewhat sad.

He leaned down and closed Lestrange's eyes then walked over to inspect Carter.

"The tremors are normal," Snape said. "Bellatrix was unusually good at applying the curse. Most witches would need at least half an hour to produce this effect. Losing the ability to speak is not out of the ordinary either. It's usually temporary, but she could sometimes make it permanent. "

Jackson looked as if he were about to punch Snape, so Charlie spoke up.

"General O'Neill needs her."

Carter blinked once and suddenly she was on her feet. She was still shaking and she grabbed onto Jackson for support.

"Where is he?" she asked.

"This way," said Charlie.

* * *

The hologram popped up and Walter almost sighed.

"What's happening sir?" Walter asked the slightly blurry image of O'Neill.

"Evil wizards are trying to take over our space ship."

Walter's mouth hung open for a second, trying to determine if the General was joking or not.

"Don't worry Walter, we have a plan."

The General explained his plan.

"You've got three minutes, Walter," O'Neill finished.

His voice hissed with static and the hologram wavered in and out of existence. Walter frowned. The plan had actually made him more worried.

"Sir, are you sure? Ordnance of the that size would-"

O'Neill cut him off. "Believe me, the explosion cannot be too big. Can you do it?"

"Yes Sir!"

The hologram vanished and Walter leapt up from his chair. They had two and a half minutes to assemble the equipment and eject it into space.

* * *

"Are we ready?" asked Bill.

"Ready as we'll ever be," O'Neill said.

Bill nodded and knelt on the deck. He began to chant in low and echoing Latin. The air around him wavered. O'Neill guessed that meant they were good to go. He leaned around the doorway. The cargo hold was a mess but the ring platform looked intact. O'Neill darted into the room, dodging to avoid stray shots from the two evil overlords. He made it to the control panel and cleared his throat. The smoke was starting to choke him. For a moment his mind went blank.

_Knew I should have taken Goa'uld instead of Spanish in high school. _

"Goa'uld Cree! Shal 'kek aud …" O'Neill wracked his brain for the word. Screw it! "Shal 'kek aud rings!"

Ba'al looked him in the eye for a moment and then redoubled his assault on Voldemort, hurling green light with a maniacal fury. The Dark Lord stumbled backward, one step after the other. He may have realized what was happening as his feet crossed the marker on the floor, but it was too late. O'Neill threw himself at the panel and the rings burst out of the floor. Voldemort brought up his wand as the light surrounded him, but nothing happened. Bill's wards kept him from dissapparating. He waved his wand and hissed something else and O'Neill heard a pained cry from the hall. Voldemort started to wave his wand again but he wasn't fast enough. The room echoed with the electronic whirring of the ancient transportation device. A white light flashed and then the rings dropped back into the floor, taking the Dark Lord with them.

* * *

It took less then a thousandth of a second for the computer to identify and target the only other active ring platform within range. Carter had shut down all the other platforms aboard the Goa'uld ship and Walter had done the same aboard the Prometheus. The only functional ring platform in range was floating two hundred kilometers off the Prometheus' bow, with a Naquadah enhanced nuclear warhead strapped to the side.

As the rings received a signal and activated, the warhead did likewise. As the rings converted the energy it had received back into matter, the cascade effect had already begun in the bomb's core, fission growing out of control. The being, once known as Tom Riddle, had six hundredth of second to realize that he was no longer in the ship.

And then there was light.

* * *

O'Neill picked up the Goa'uld communicator he had grabbed on his way back to the cargo bay.

"Walter? Walter? Come in Prometheus? Can anyone hear me?"

"—here sir. Our sensors were knocked out by the blast. We have visual confirmation, though. Target has been destroyed."

"Hell yeah!" O'Neill said, turning to smile at the kid. "Oh crap."

The kid's eyes flashed orange and he raised the ribbon device.

"My enemies are just lining up to die at my hands today," said Ba'al, with bits of borrowed personality shining through.

The force of the blast threw O'Neill into the opposite wall. His head rang as he scrambled to his feet. Ba'al sauntered towards him, hand raised and a sneer on his face. He stopped suddenly, cocking his head as if he had just heard something strange. His eyes flashed orange again but instead of some over-the-top victory speech he gave a strangled shout…

…and his eyes turned red.


	24. Eat Right And Exercise

**Author's note: **Sorry this update took forever and a day to get done. With so many positive reviews I was scared I was going to muck up the ending. Well, tell me what you think.

**Crumpets Aren't My Style**

**By Marz**

**Eat Right and Exercise **

McGonagall's skirts and robes whipped around her. She waved the wand, and though the vacuum stole her words, the metal bent to her will. The tear in the hull healed itself. Her robes gave a final slap against her shins, and then were still. The Jaffa gripping various uneven surfaces protruding from the walls and floor got shakily to their feet. The cornered Death Eater had tried to take them all with him, and failed.

"Mr. Brook was never very bright," she said, "but I'd have expected him to remember some little necessities such as atmosphere."

"A former of your students?" asked Bre'tac as he steadied himself with his staff.

McGonagall nodded.

"There are two more of them," buzzed the slightly distorted voice of Colonel Carter from the ship's com system.

McGonagall waited patiently for the muggle woman to direct them. She was rather impressed that the muggle had not only repaired the ship's "sensors" but had also managed to use them to detect the disruptions magic caused in the ship's power systems.

"Aft section, two decks up," the woman's voice buzzed. "Also there is a blank area on the scans where I received the last communication from General O'Neill. It could be a side effect of whatever they were doing. Charlie Weasley just went to check it out, but he might need backup."

"Do you think it's Ba'al?" McGonagall asked.

"It could be," said Carter.

"At least we no longer have to deal with Voldemort."

* * *

Pain.

Light.

Dark.

Light.

Dark.

Sensations overlapped, crashing torrents of agony, struggling to take up all the remaining space. Harry's head was bursting and he couldn't breathe, but somehow his mouth was still forming words, though he couldn't really understand them. He stumbled about blind and deaf as the two snakes within his head fought for control. He shook so hard the ribbon device slid from his hand.

He could feel Ba'al shutting down parts of his brain and overloading others, trying to force Voldemort out. The Goa'uld fought desperately to eject Voldemort, without really understanding how they were linked. No amount of tweaked neurons were going to excise him. The choking darkness didn't relent, even as Harry's arms went numb and his heart shuddered and halted, only to restart a few seconds later when that, too, failed to convince Voldemort to leave.

He didn't know how long it had been going on when Ba'al pushed his way into his consciousness.

_Boy._

The thought was not his own. The symbiote had never tried to speak with him before.

_Boy!_

_What?_ Harry thought back.

_He will destroy us both. Help me expel him._

_Why should I?_

_You will die with me! _

_So what? If we all go down then the universe will be a much better place._

The brightness returned, so overwhelming for a moment he forgot his name again.

_You expelled him before. I used your memories. I replayed the images of your godfather exactly, but it did not work. How do I expel him?_

_You can't._

_Why?_

It was a question Harry had not considered before, but he suddenly understood the answer.

You aren't human. You don't have a soul. You don't have feelings. There's nothing in you that isn't also in him.

Harry felt it then, the creature's frustration and its fear. Images formed in Harry's mind; his parents, Sirius, Ron, Hermione, Mrs. Weasley, Professor McGonagall, Lupin. All of them appeared in his mind's eye, but Harry felt nothing. He could have been watching a stranger's home movies for all the emotion it evoked. The only thing he felt was hatred for the parasite. The hatred was so deep at that moment he couldn't have helped Ba'al even if he had wanted to. Instead he did nothing as darkness consumed them both.

_I will not!_

* * *

Voldemort could feel the creature squirming inside Potter's head, physically rearranging things in an attempt to make the body uninhabitable. He could respect its tenacity. He wouldn't show any mercy because of it, but he could respect it.

Slowly he found his way through Potter and into the creature's mind. It was strange, like trying to read upside down in a mirror, but he found the central nervous system, the on/off switch. He was about to kill the parasite when something else caught his attention: its memories.

Glimpses of other worlds were amazing, almost beyond description, but the memories of Earth were the most fascinating; Earth thousands of years ago, before cities covered the land, before muggles covered the planet. This creature had lived six thousand years at least, and showed no signs of decay.

Voldemort had to know more, but if he wanted control of the body, he had to take it now, before Potter could pull himself together. He didn't have time to go through every memory in the Goa'uld's mind, but as more of its memories surfaced, he found another way.

* * *

Ba'al struggled, trying to sever links to the human boy's brain, but it was too late. The Goa'uld felt chemical pathways in its own body cascade out of control. His flesh began to eat away at itself. He tried to shut the paths down. If he was going to die, he wasn't going to let the boy live. Something else was in control though, something that was forcing a controlled lysis without allowing him to release lethal enzymes into the host's body. Ba'al knew there might be a last chance at escape. If he could just sever the links to human he could crawl out. O'Neill was still in the room, not an ideal host, but any port in a storm.

Then another reaction started. The neurological interfaces with the host began to grow instead of shrink. Charges ran through his cells, accessing not only the active memories in living in the connected neurons but those buried in his genes as well. His memories slipped away down the connection, leaking along microscopic channels into the human's brain.

* * *

Things began to flash through Harry's mind: memories that weren't his own. Beautiful cities turned to ash at his command. People screamed and begged for mercy, and he did not grant it. Numbers and equations poured through his mind. He didn't understand a single one of them, but they stayed there, cluttering up his ability to think. He tried to yell for help, but he didn't understand the words coming from his own mouth.

And then the brightness was gone. The pain that had him wishing for death moments earlier was replaced by something indescribably more terrible. He could feel something moving inside his head. The most coherent though Harry could form was that the symbiote was trying to crawl back out.

* * *

_All we need now is some green puke, _O'Neill thought, _and for his head to do a 360._

The room echoed with three separate voices, the Goa'uld's low resonating growl, Voldemort's hissing, and some agonizing wails that probably belonged to the kid.

"-out!"

"…vermin…"

"…parasite…"

"…body is mine…"

"…please make it stop!"

The kid started towards the door, stopped, turned toward O'Neill, and stopped again before staggering towards a nondescript section of wall and slamming his own head against it. O'Neill went with his first instincts, which most often were his best ones. He charged across the room and caught the kid in a flying tackle.

They slammed into the floor. The kid shook for a few seconds and then went still. O'Neill pressed a hand to his throat. For half a minute he couldn't find a pulse. O'Neill sat back. He tried to activate the Goa'uld communicator, but it didn't work.

O'Neill rolled the unconscious teenager over. Tentatively he reached out and poked at the back of the kid's neck. He could just barely feel the tail end of the symbiote still wrapped around Harry's neck vertebra. It wasn't moving and seemed oddly squishy. He rolled him back over and found the kid's eyes were open. He was drooling and staring vacantly up at the ceiling. It was definitely not normal Goa'uld behavior at least. He checked his pulse again. It was going a mile a minute, but at least it was still going.

"Kid?" he asked. "Harry? Can you hear me?"

The kid twitched and his eyelids fluttered. O'Neill got hopeful.

"Come on," O'Neill said coaxingly. "We've got to move somewhere safer."

The kid turned his head and groaned and O'Neill got more hopeful.

"I think you're going to have to get up on your own, kid, cause my back is killing me."

The kid opened his mouth and hissed. O'Neill got less hopeful.

Harry's eyes opened revealing black slit pupils in the midst of an iridescent bloody red. O'Neill lunged backwards as the kid's hands shot up, snatching at him. O'Neill got to his feet, shaking. The kid got up, too.

"What's wrong, muggle?" asked the boy in a high, hissing voice.

"Harry?" O'Neill called. "This would be a really good time for your comeback, kid!"

"Potter's not coming back, muggle. He doesn't have the will. It's just you and me now, muggle. And then it is only me."

The kid's face was moving, as if his bones were trying to rearrange themselves. The scar on the kid's forehead sealed itself over with gray, spongy-looking flesh. The discoloration spread, and the kid's nose sank into his face, leaving only two dark slits above his mouth.

O'Neill took another step back. Something clanked under his foot as he took another step back. He saw the ribbon device under his boot and snatched it up, never taking his eyes off of Voldemort…Harry…whoever.

"You think that will protect you from me?" the hissing voice asked.

The face no longer looked like Harry's. The nostrils stretched into slits and his lips melted into nearly colorless flesh.

"Here's hoping," O'Neill muttered, sliding the ribbon device onto hand.

The glaring red eyes were boring into his head.

"You don't even know how it works," Voldemort sneered.

O'Neill could feel the thing clawing its way into his mind. The room flickered and he saw the inside of the biohazard coffin he'd been locked in after Antarctica. He tried to look away from its eyes, but his head wouldn't turn. The lid opened and there were Tok'ra looking down at him.

"Afraid of your own memories?" Voldemort asked in a mocking voice.

O'Neill gave his head a sharp shake and focused his gaze on Voldemort's nose. The crawling sensation persisted.

"If you can remember, you might be able to save yourself," Voldemort continued.

_Or you might just snatch the instruction manual out of my head_, O'Neill thought.

"That is more then likely," Voldemort hissed.

He waved Harry's hand at O'Neill and the front of his shirt caught fire. He stumbled backwards, slapping at the cloth.

_What was Carter always saying about Goa'uld technology? It was all about focus and mental control, and Naquadah in your bloodstream_. He raised the device and did his best to focus, but nothing happened. Voldemort made a dismissive gesture and O'Neill was thrown back across the room. He tumbled across the floor and the ribbon device scraped the skin off his palms as he tried to catch himself.

_Goddamn piece of junk!_ O'Neill though. He waved his hand intending to shake the device loose from his fingers. An orange blast of energy slammed into the ceiling above Voldemort's head. O'Neill wasn't sure which one of them was more surprised, but O'Neill got over it faster. He aimed at Voldemort, and pushed with all of his anger. _Get the hell away from me!_

This time a pressure wave blasted out of the ribbon device, knocking Voldemort off his feet. He was up again a moment later but things were fractionally less one-sided. O'Neill threw another orange blast and scrambled for the door. He tried to sprint down the corridor, but couldn't get much beyond a sort of shambling jog. He passed Bill Weasley, lying motionless on the ground with blood trickling out of his nose and ears. O'Neill couldn't tell if he was still breathing. All that to stop Voldemort from Apparating for thirty seconds.

O'Neill was pretty sure Voldemort was just playing with him. Either that or the kid was somehow throwing him off. He couldn't give up the hope that the kid was still in there somewhere. O'Neill turned the corner, and skidded to a halt. Voldemort was standing in the corridor ahead of him, slightly slouched. He wore a bored expression on a face no longer recognizable as Harry's.

"Crucio!"

* * *

It was dark again.

He couldn't think of any other way for things to be, but he knew it hadn't always been dark. He knew nothing about himself except faint echoes of emotions. He thought he should have a name, but it wouldn't come to him.

The pain wasn't there anymore either. He knew it was near. If he tried to do anything, be anything, it would return. But he couldn't stay in the dark. He knew that too.

And he knew he wasn't alone.

There was the one above, causing the pain, and there was the other, in the dark with him, asleep, or at least pretending to be.

The only way to stay away from them was to be nothing. And he would not be nothing.

* * *

It started out faintly. A slight pain deep within that he could almost ignore. For a moment Voldemort allowed himself to believe that it was just some stomach problem the boy had. And then it came roaring upward, searing the inside of his head.

Taking control of a body was always painful, but he thought the worst had passed. When Potter had refused to help the Goa'uld and allowed himself to be submerged, Voldemort thought it was over. When souls fell into the darkness they did not return, just as Quirrel had been unable to return, and yet here Potter was, bubbling up again.

Voldemort tried to force him down again. He dug into Potter's memories, upending things so thoughts of loved ones and similar revolting emotions would not be cause interference, but this time it was not emotion that weakened his hold on the body. This time it was will.

He had overlooked it, that night in the graveyard, when he had used the Imperius on Potter and had it thrown back on him. He thought it was his own weakness, the weakness of his newly conjured body that had allowed Potter to overcome it, but now he realized that was not the case. That night the boy had matched his will. And now he was doing it again.

_I am Harry James Potter. _

His hold on Potter's soul weakened. The spell he cast on the muggle blinked out.

_This is my body. _

His hold loosened more, and he felt stretched out like gum peeled from the bottom of a shoe. He stretched his senses for another compatible body, but none would allow it. His Death Eaters had died or fled. All but one, and Snape would not let him in.

_Get out!_

The unlikely roar inside the boy's mind seemed to echo in the physical plane as well. Voldemort's grip snapped.

* * *

The pain let up. O'Neill had thrown his arms over his face as he was thrashing around and he really didn't want to remove them. He couldn't help but wonder why so many evil overlords seemed to have it in for him. A foot scuffed against the floor a few feet away. He risked a peek.

Voldemort's hands were pressed over his face, and he was breathing in sharp heaving rasps. O'Neill got to his feet and held up the ribbon device, but he didn't have to use it. He reached out and grabbed Voldemort's hands, prying them away. They weren't Voldemort's hands any more.

The skin on the kid's forehead burst open and a lightning bolt scar zigzagged its way down. Blood ran from the nose that re-erupted from his face and the gray discoloration boiled off his skin. Red eyes looked up at him, but between blinks they turned green.

O'Neill saw it, floating up, a cloud of foul, not-quite smoke. There were faint differences in shading, maybe hints of a human face, and then it was gone, passing through the wall of the ship without substance. For a whole thirty seconds one thought filled his mind.

_That damn thing better not have just halfway ascended._

He looked down at the kid who had a death grip on the front of his jacket and was shaking like a caffeinated Chihuahua.

"Are you…by yourself in there now?" O'Neill asked.

The kid nodded. His mouth moved but he didn't speak. O'Neill hoped there wasn't brain damage, but it had not been anyone's lucky day.

"Let's just sit down for a minute, alright?" O'Neill said as his shaking legs gave out.

The kid nodded and sat down next to him. The ship seemed prohibitively quiet and when Charlie Weasley came across them half an hour later, they still had not moved or spoken.

* * *

"Over here," Healer Peebles said.

Charlie looked up at the crowd of Jaffa dragging a severely-hexed woman through the door. They were still finding injured people all over the ship. Charlie grabbed some bandages and hurried over to them. It was short but gruesome work turning the woman's arms and legs the right way around. Turning her eyes right side out was a little more work. Charlie really hated retroplex curses. The makeshift hospital was clearing out quickly. In most cases the Jaffa were able to heal themselves, and even the most seriously injured refused to rest before the ship was entirely secured. The old man who'd taken a liking to Professor McGonagall--as well as a blasting hex to the leg--had hobbled out again after barely fifteen minutes of rest. The only ones who stayed down were those unlikely to ever get up again.

Charlie had volunteered to help with the injured after he found his brother. To be honest, he was much more used to patching up creatures with four or more legs and/or wings, but they needed all the help they could get. Bill was still unconscious on a transfigured bed in the corner, but Peebles thought he'd recover from the spell feedback he'd been hit with when Voldemort tried to Apparate through the barrier he'd conjured.

A shadow passed through the doorway. Charlie had halfway drawn his wand when he realized it was Snape.

"How's Harry?" Charlie asked.

The muggles had asked the Potions professor to confirm that Harry was no longer under Goa'uld or Voldemort's control. Snape glared at Charlie through a curtain of greasy hair.

"I neither know nor care. I am here to inform the Healers that the Jaffa believe they have found Dumbledore's remains. Professor McGonagall is viewing them now."

* * *

She did not want to look, but Bre'tac's persistent grip on her arm forced her to keep her eyes open. The twisted and scorched room was not so dark as to require his guidance, but neither of them felt the need to be separated.

"Over here," Bre'tac said, pointing with his staff to a lumpy bulge in the wall.

McGonagall raised her wand. "Lumos."

The bulge was the palm of a hand, the curve of the thumb was just visible and four little bumps that likely were fingertips stuck out above it. She leaned in closer and saw that the palm was not flesh, but rather the same material as the wall. It gave no sign of life when she touched it, but she thought she felt something else.

"Is it He?" Bre'tac asked. "This is the room he was last seen in."

"It's Albus," she said.

"I am sorry," Bre'tac said.

Jaffa did not usually say such things when a warrior dies in battle, but he had spent enough time with the Tauri to know it was their custom. McGonagall adjusted her glasses.

"Condolences may not be necessary," she said after a moment.

She touched the wall with her wand and began to weave spell over spell. The wall glowed. Bre'tac watched over her shoulder as the outline of a man formed. It was as if he were looking through a layer of ice instead of trillium alloy. Bre'tac had met Dumbledore only briefly after his arrival, but it was easy enough to recognize him. The wizard inside the wall stood with his feet apart, one hand held forward, as if commanding all before him to halt. The other hand was clenched in a fist.

"What has happened here?" Bre'tac asked.

McGonagall was silent for several seconds. "I didn't think it was possible," she started, "But with Albus…"

She paused again.

"He doesn't have his wand," she said. "Voldemort likely disarmed him since his wand is not apparent. I think…he could not have dodged, nor could he block the killing curse…only Mr.Potter had ever done that. Albus could always do the most amazing things with transfiguration, animate and inanimate transitions and conjuring. I'll need more time to study this, of course…"

"I still do not understand."

"I think Albus attempted to withstand the killing curse by transfiguring himself into something that was not alive, wandlessly as well, apparently. Whatever he was doing didn't go as planned, I expect. But if he got far enough along…I think there is a chance we'll be able to restore him."

* * *

O'Neill leaned past the console to look at the kid. Carter and the medics had confirmed that the Goa'uld was dead and being absorbed. The wizards were supposed to see if Voldemort was gone but they kept putting it off. O'Neill didn't know what to think about that. The kid still hadn't said a word since it happened, over five hours ago. He wouldn't sleep, either. The witchdoctors wanted to knock the kid out until they had time for him, but O'Neill didn't think that was such a good idea, so he volunteered to keep an eye on him, not that he was doing much. He was still sitting where they'd left him, leaning against the wall and wrapped in extra coats, still staring blankly into space.

"-and the atmosphere on decks six and seven has stabilized at 750 torr," Carter said, bringing up another graphic on the screen. "The control crystals in the atmospheric processing systems were damaged by resonant interference so we have to run them in series. Also, the power relay on deck six was hit with a staff blast and is only working at 16 efficiency."

O'Neill nodded. He didn't understand most of what she said, and there didn't seem to be much point in her telling him. He couldn't help much in the repair process, besides fetching tools and holding flashlights. He supposed she felt like she had to talk, though. Her hands were still shaking. The witchdoctor said it was a reaction to the "Cruciatius curse". She said they'd just have to wait for it to pass. Still, as O'Neill watched Carter's shaking hands he couldn't entirely suppress the idea that he should reach out and hold them until it stopped.

The com buzzed and Teal'c's face appeared in the sphere embedded in the console.

"We have completed our scans of the lower decks. No further intruders have been encountered. The ship is once again secure."

"I'll pass that along to the President again," said O'Neill. "Third time is the charm, right?"

Teal'c raised an eyebrow, but gave no further response. The connection was severed.

O'Neill was turning back towards Carter for more reports when a there was a dull thump in the hallway. The door slid open and a dead Jaffa floated in, dangling from invisible strings like a puppet. A dead SGC officer and another dead Jaffa followed. Then Lupin floated in, eyes half-open and a confused expression still plastered on his lifeless face. The kid made a funny little whining noise. As a fifth and sixth body floated in the door, O'Neill's brain finally started functioning again.

"The morgue is three corridors down!" he called.

The bodies did a stiff about face in midair, floated back out, and started off down the hall. As the door slid shut after them, he saw Snape walking after them, wand held up like conductor's baton, with a put-upon expression on his face.

"Who gave him that job?" Carter asked.

"McGonagall gave him a choice of doing that, or helping patch up the living. I'm not surprised," O'Neill said, as he leaned past the console to check on the kid again.

"Crap!"

"What?" asked Carter.

"The kid's gone."

* * *

Everything was so loud. Every blink set off a cascade of sound inside his head. Every object mentioned brought up a flurry of words, many of which he didn't entirely understand. At least what he saw made sense for the moment. Harry saw Snape using a moblicorpus charm to transport the dead, and he followed him.

Several times Snape turned to look behind him, but Harry simply leaned into the shadows created by the overly ornate architecture of the Goa'uld ship. Joe'mec managed to teach him this in the first few weeks of training. Thinking of the rebel Jaffa set off another wordfall, Shol'va the loudest word among them, but he managed to keep up with Snape anyway. Snape opened up the door of the sarcophagus room, directed the bodies inside and then ended his spell. They landed with dull thumps.

He waited for Snape to Disapparate, probably faster then walking, and then crept to the door. It was locked, but he knew the override code. He knew all the codes. The Tauri woman, Carter, was attempting to reprogram them, but she didn't understand the systems well enough.

Harry stepped into the room. The dead lay about in various positions. Some gently settled with their faces covered, other simply dropped. He found Lupin and pulled him out of under another body. His eyes were open. Harry pushed them closed, but they slid open again. He was very dead, but Harry knew he could do something about that.

_I am a god after all_, he thought as he pulled open the sarcophagus.

* * *

Snape leaned against the door. He could most definitely hear it then, the clink of metal and glass. He pressed the button and the door slid open. The room was filled with casualties, muggles, Jaffa, and three dead wizards, Healer Urslin, Ms. Murdock, and Lupin. The dead Death Eaters had been put in the room across the hall. He supposed they didn't want a fight to break out.

He had finally finished moving corpses and was looking forward to some rest when the muggles raised the alarm. Apparently Potter had wandered off. He destroyed half of wizarding Britain and it still wasn't enough attention for him.

In the center of the room was the huge machine the muggles called the sarcophagus. They claimed it could heal any injury, even raise the dead, when it was working. The clinking came again, and Snape walked around to the far side of it. A pair of feet was hanging out of an open panel. For a moment he thought it was one of the muggles tinkering about, but then he heard a familiar voice muttering. The words were gibberish but it was definitely Potter.

"Come out of there," Snape ordered.

"Ca sho mel, Shol'va!" Potter replied.

Snape was sorely tempted to pull him out with a summoning charm, but he knew McGonagall and the muggles would throw a fit. He went to the panel in the wall and pressed the button as he'd seen the muggles do. He spoke into the grill.

"If anyone cares, Potter is in the morgue."

* * *

"What's he doing?" Charlie asked.

"He may be repairing it," Carter said. "If he has any of Ba'al's memories he may know what the Goa'uld did to sabotage it."

"So if he fixes it?"

"Then we may be able to turn back the body count."

"You don't really think the dead can come back, do you?" Charlie asked.

"I have," Carter said.

"What?"

"The technology some of the other races have, some of it is so far beyond us that it looks like magic. In one of SG1's earlier missions we were all killed by Apophis. A staff blast to the chest is a bad way to go, if you were wondering. I felt my heart boil and explode. The next thing I know I'm in a funny little hut and a funny little lady is offering me mangoes."

"But how can Harry know how to fix this thing? I though you said the Goa'uld was dead?"

"It is. But when the symbiote is in your head there is a certain degree of information exchanged. After it's gone you can recall some things."

"You've had one of those Goa'uld in your head too?" Charlie asked.

"A Tok'ra, not a Goa'uld. They're physiologically similar but Tok'ra usually only take voluntary hosts."

"If you had one in your head why couldn't you fix it?" Charlie asked.

He could see the topic was making her uncomfortable, but he needed to know.

"First of all, the Tok'ra don't use the Sarcophagus because they believe it destroys the mind of the host, which it does, after repeated use. Secondly, it took me months to start bringing up Jolanare's memories, and even then they were vague. I don't know how Harry is doing this so fast, but if he remembers how, we are all better off. We have another broken one at the SGC we might be able to fix as well. Of course, then we'd have all sorts of moral problems."

"Like what?" asked Charlie, trying not to look at the dead people all around them.

"If we do get it working, who gets to use it? Even if both work we could never give every sick person on earth access to it, and if they even knew we had it there would be riots over who got cured and who didn't. But at the same time, how could we not use it when thousands of people could be saved? Then again, the Asgard might just solve the problem by taking it away from us. When this is over, I almost hope they do. No one in our government should be playing God."

There was a final clink and Harry crawled backwards out of the machine. His face was smudged and sweaty, but still strangely expressionless. He pushed the panel back into place and pushed a glyph that was still smeared with O'Neill's blood from the day before. The lid slid open and the light came on. Harry stepped away, for a moment seeming disoriented. Then his gaze settled on Lupin's body. He stepped over the other dead to reach it. Charlie wanted to stop him, but Carter passed him. She lifted Lupin's shoulders and Harry got his feet. In silence they carried him to the box.

"Now what?" asked Charlie.

"We wait," Carter answered.

Harry just stared at the box in silence.

* * *

The thing that held his attention most strongly was his inability to blink. Of course he noticed the flat, uniformly green lawn that stretched beneath him, from one ideally blue horizon to the other. He noticed the blue sky held no sun, or any other source of light. He noticed the woman dressed in white standing a few yards away as well, but his inability to blink was at the forefront of all other perceptions.

_What's wrong with me?_ He thought.

"You have died," said the woman.

_I'm not dead. _He thought, and realized he couldn't speak either.

"You have died."

_If I'm dead, then why am I still…he looked down and saw nothing but green grass beneath him; no body, no feet, not even a shadow. What happened to me?_

"You have died."

_That's not exactly helpful information._

"I can not help you until you accept that you have died. Only then can you move on, and become what you were and truly are."

_Well, sorry to put you off but I am not dead. I don't want to be dead._

"What you want matters little at this stage. If you wish for your will to affect reality, you must move on and become what you were."

_If I move on, I'll become human again?_

"You will become what you were."

_I'll be a werewolf again?_

"You will become what you were before."

_This isn't making any sense._

"You will understand when you move on."

_Well, I can't just move on if I don't know where I'm going._

"I can tell you nothing more. I am only here to tell you to move on and not back."

_So there is a way back?_

"Part of you can go back, but you will never again be what you were."

_I'll be a ghost? Not human?_

"If you go back you will be human, and only that."

_Then I'm going back._

"You will regret it."

_I don't think so._

"Then there is nothing more for me to say."

_You're not going to tell me how to get out of this place, are you?_

"You aren't in a place. You are in a human."

_You mean I am a human._

"You are now."

_I've always been human. I'm Remus Lupin. Perhaps you had me confused with someone else._

The woman looked blankly at him and then vanished. The lawn and sky began to fade away, replaced by a colorless light.

"May you find the path as Remus Lupin, then," her disembodied voice said.

He blinked and felt a hard surface under his back. The light faded and the sky above him split open, revealing a ceiling. Familiar faces appeared above him.

"Remus?" asked Charlie Weasley.

"I-" he croaked. Something felt wrong. He moved his fingers and toes. They all seemed to be in working order.

"I feel wrong," he said.

Another face popped into view. It took him a minute to recall the woman's name: Carter.

"That'll go away in a few hours," Carter assured him.

Remus sat up with great effort and many hands helped lift him out of the strange box he had been lying in. There were dead people on the floor all around it. He tripped over someone's arm as he was lead into the hall. Harry was walking with them a few feet to the left. His face was blank. Remus looked back and saw Carter lifting another of the dead men into the box. The lid slid closed.

"I feel wrong," he said again.

"I'll take you to see the Healers," Charlie said.

Lupin nodded and Charlie grabbed his elbow and led him out of the room.

* * *

"Remus?" McGonagall called as she rushed through the door.

She couldn't help the smile that split her face. When Severus had told her he was dead she felt as if she'd been kicked in the chest. Now she was nearly floating. Remus sat on a conjured bed across from Healer Peebles. He did not look up when she repeated his name. Instead the healer stood up and crossed the room to her, catching her sleeve and guiding her away from Remus, who looked at his own hands and said nothing.

"What's wrong?" McGonagall asked in a low voice.

"You've known this man a long time?" Heeler Peebles asked.

McGonagall nodded. "Since he was eleven."

"I need you to ask him some personal questions, things only the real Mr. Lupin would know."

"Is there…is there some reason to believe this is not…Mr. Lupin?"

"Mr. Lupin was born a wizard, was he not?"

McGonagall did not know what to say. She looked over at the bed again.

"He was unable to perform a levitation charm. I thought it may have been shock so I used further diagnostic spells. This man has no magic."

"Are…are you certain?"

Peebles nodded. "And I know of no spell that could make a wizard into a muggle."

_But we know of a spell that could make a wizard into a corpse_, McGonagall thought. _And another that can make a corpse walk around_. McGonagall turned and walked over to Remus. She conjured herself up a chair and sat down across from him. He continued to look at his hands.

"Remus? Do you know me?" she asked.

He nodded.

"When did we first meet?"

He looked up then. His eyes were almost expressionless, but she thought she saw a hint of him still in them.

"We met on the train. Sirius had started a fight with Bellatrix and you had to apparate in when a prefect got hexed. They told me Bellatrix was dead. They told me I was dead. Maybe that's why I don't feel so well."

"I'm sure it will get better," McGonagall said. "The muggles said the machine always makes you feel awful. Do you remember the muggle's names?"

"There's Daniel Jackson, and Carter, O'Neill, Siler, Walter, I don't remember the others…Teal'c but he's a Jaffa."

"What's the last thing you remember?" McGonagall asked. She was getting off-topic, but the curiosity was killing her.

"The woman in white. She said I wouldn't be myself any more."

"Bellatrix?" McGonagall asked.

"No, the woman. It was green everywhere and she said I should go on."

"Remus, what are you…?"

"Maybe I shouldn't have told her no. I want to sleep now. I'm tired. Please let me rest."

McGonagall nodded and stood up. The Healer looked questioningly at her.

"He knows who he is," McGonagall said. "But he doesn't seem himself."

"I suppose we'll have to wait and see," said the Healer.

McGonagall nodded. She risked a last backward glance at Remus, who had sort of tipped over sideways on the bed, rather then lay down. As soon as she was clear of the door she raised her wand and Apparated. The sarcophagus room appeared around her. Charlie, Harry, Carter, and Daniel Jackson were standing around the large golden box, with arms crossed and pensive expressions on their faces. There were only three more corpses in the room, all of them Jaffa.

"Has something happened?" McGonagall asked.

She wondered where Healer Urslin and Ms. Murdock were. They should have been brought to Healer Peebles immediately. Daniel Jackson adjusted his glasses before looking at her.

"I don't know if it's a problem, exactly," Daniel said. "We've had two ascensions in the past five minutes, so we thought we'd stop for a moment."

"Ascensions?" McGonagall asked. "Where are Healer Urslin and Ms. Murdock?"

"On a higher plain of existence, we assume," Jackson said.

"What?" McGonagall asked, looking to Charlie.

"We put Healer Urslin in the sarcophagus and turned it on. All the other times it worked, but that time a sort of…well I would call it a cross between an angel and a glowing octopus…sort of floated up out through the lid and disappeared through the ceiling. When we opened the box there was no body."

"Does this happen often?" McGonagall asked.

"No," Daniel said. "You have to die to ascend. If the sarcophagus has activated it shouldn't be possible. When I ascended, I had to get Jack to stop them from saving me."

"So they'll ascend and come back?" McGonagall asked.

"Only if they're bad," Daniel said. "But they shouldn't have been able to go at all with the sarcophagus turned on."

"Was it only the witches who ascended?" McGonagall asked.

Daniel nodded. "We put a Jaffa in next and she was healed normally. I was going to try it with one of the Death Eater casualties but Harry seemed to be against that idea."

McGonagall looked at Harry. "He spoke?"

"In Goa'uld," Daniel said, frowning deeply. "Has Lupin said anything…uh…strange?"

McGonagall recounted Lupin's words.

"What does it mean?" asked Carter.

After a thoughtful moment Daniel said "I'm going to have to shrug here."


	25. Going Home

**Author's Note: **Thanks, everybody, for your reviews!

**Crumpets Aren't My Style**

**By Marz**

**Going Home**

Ron Weasley checked his watch and then looked up at the colorless overcast sky. He still didn't believe it, not truly. Bill and Charlie had written him long letters of assurance, but he couldn't work up the energy to hope. He tried to be patient for Hermione's sake. She seemed to believe almost everything now, every strange rumor, every bit of gossip. She even made him read a _Quibbler_ article about muggles battling the Dark Lord on the Moon.

It wasn't that he had never hoped that they'd see Harry again. When Harry had been declared dead by the Ministry almost a year earlier, Ron found himself watching the door of the boys' dormitory, half expecting his best friend for the past six years to walk through. But he'd used up most of his faith since then. Three weeks before, they had gone through the same thing. They were allowed out of class and had waited with Acting Headmistress McGonagall for three hours, and nothing had happened. The Headmistress had forwarded them an apology that she claimed was from Harry. It mentioned imminent galactic destruction. Even Hermione had found it a little hard to swallow.

"They still have three minutes," Hermione said.

Ron grunted and shifted around on the cold castle steps.

"What was that?" Hermione asked.

Ron shrugged.

"Didn't you feel that?" she asked.

"No," said Ron.

"Are you sure?" she asked. "It was like-"

A bright white flash of light interrupted her.

"-electricity," she mumbled.

As the spots faded from their eyes, two figures resolved into being at the foot of the steps. A tall, gray haired man with an angular but very relaxed face stood holding a blue flattop circular hat that went with his dark blue muggle suit. Both hat and suit were decorated with bits of shiny metal and colored squares. He was wearing reflective sunglasses and a faintly amused expression. Next to him was a dark haired young man with buzz-cut and tan. The younger man's clothes were dark green and very plain compared to his companion's. The only thing slightly odd about him was the black fingerless gloves he was wearing. Ron's eyes rested on the younger stranger for a moment. He could have sworn he'd seen him somewhere before.

"Harry!" Hermione shrieked, jumping to her feet and rushing down the steps.

"What?" Ron asked, standing unsteadily and following her at a more cautious pace.

The man in green looked a bit like Harry. He had a similar face, Ron supposed, but everything else about him was wrong. Harry always stood slightly bent, as if he thought he could avoid stares by making himself smaller. Harry was skinny, pale, and short. The young man at the bottom of the steps was sporting a build closer to Charlie's, and stood with a pronounced confidence that seemed to imply that he was ready at any moment to challenge all comers to a pushup contest. _It can't be._

The man in blue stepped agilely out of the way as Hermione caught the man in green in a very off-balanced hug.

"Hey, Ron," said the man in green in a voice that was a little too deep, but definitely Harry's.

"Hey," Ron responded lamely. "Content lenses?" Ron asked, waving at Harry's face.

"Contact," Hermione corrected absently.

Harry shook his head. "No, no lenses."

"Then why aren't you wearing your glasses?" Ron asked.

"Ron!" Hermione chided.

They stood about looking at each other. Harry had gotten a little taller then Hermione, even counting her hair.

"So…" Ron started.

He was saved from another awkward conversation starter by the man in the blue suit clearing his throat.

"Oh, right," said Harry. "This is General Jack O'Neill, two L's, current commander of the Earth Defense Force. Sir, this is Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. "

"Pleasure to meet you, sir," said Hermione, formally.

"Back at ya," the General replied.

They paused for another awkward moment.

"So this wizard school," O'Neill said looking up at the castle. "I thought it would look magical-er."

Hermione and Ron exchanged confused looks.

"General O'Neill!" called McGonagall as she swept out of the castle and down the steps.

"Headmistress," he replied, shaking her hand. "Sorry we had to cancel last time. There was a couple hundred you-know-whats you-know-where trying to destroy…uh…you know."

"I know," McGonagall replied.

Ron and Hermione exchanged even more confused looks. McGonagall reached into her pocket and pulled out a vial of glowing green liquid.

"This should improve the view," she said, putting it in O'Neill's hand.

He looked at the little glass tube.

"So are these eye-drops, ingested, injected, topical…I fear further options here…"

"You drink it, General."

"Right. Good."

O'Neill gulped the vial, looked up at the castle again and said "oh!" It took Ron a minute to recall that muggles only saw ruins when they looked at the castle to keep them from wandering too close. McGonagall clapped her hands together.

"Now that that's settled, General, I'd like to go over the agenda before the Ministry's representatives get here. I'm certain Mr. Potter is eager to be caught up on Quidditch scores and the like."

With a well-practiced shooing motion she sent the three teenagers back into the castle. Ron looked back in time to see her take O'Neill's outstretched arm, and lead him up the steps.

* * *

They strolled passed the "Great Hall" as McGonagall named it. Girls in black robes were running in and out. A few had their wands out and were shooting sparks at each other, but a raised eyebrow from McGonagall froze them in their tracks. The momentary look of horror on their faces morphed into knowing grins. They turned and ran off giggling, and O'Neill was sure he heard the words "McGonagall's boyfriend" as they reentered the hall. Bre'tac would be so jealous.

There was a large staircase at the end of the entrance hall, and just to the right of it was a statue. Or what O'Neill at first thought was a statue.

"Researchers from the department of Mysteries come in every few days to look him over and run tests. They wanted to keep him there, but I know this is where he wants to be," McGonagall explained. "We're expecting a breakthrough any day now."

A half dozen Weasleys had taken the section of wall from Ba'al's ship two months ago. O'Neill had been wondering what they did with it. The extra layers of bulkhead from the Goa'uld ship had been stripped away to reveal an aged face, frozen in its last moments. Dumbledore stood with one hand reaching forward and the other pointed at the floor. He looked utterly calm. They continued up past him.

"We'll be holding the meeting in the Headmaster's office," McGonagall said at the top of yet another staircase.

"Ever considered putting in an escalator?" O'Neill asked.

"I shudder to think about what would happen to the children if we did. You wouldn't believe how much candy they eat."

Three staircases later they got to the office in question. McGonagall called out "ice mice" and a stone gargoyle stepped aside as they approached. It beat swiping a finicky plastic card, he supposed. They started up another set of stairs, but to O'Neill's relief the staircase started to move itself upwards. Almost every inch of wall space in McGonagall's office was covered with portraits, and they all seemed to be moving. O'Neill tried to play it cool as the painted people turned toward him and started to talk. There were moving paintings in the halls too, but they didn't seem to be paying so much attention to passersby. McGonagall seated herself behind her desk and O'Neill took the seat in front of it.

POP!

A strange little biped dressed in a tea-towel toga, was suddenly standing a few feet away from him. It looked at him with eyes like bulging tennis balls.

"Hey," O'Neill said.

"I'm sorry!" wailed the creature.

"You've nothing to apologize for, Minty," McGonagall said.

"Minty did not know there was a muggle here! Please do not send Minty to the Ministry."

"Don't upset yourself," McGonagall ordered. "Tell me why you're here."

"Minty wanted to check the menu for tea. Headmistress had said she would tell Minty this morning, but Minty has failed to acquire this information."

"I apologize, Minty. I forgot to stop by the kitchens this morning. Tea service for ten, Earl grey, and an assortment of biscuits will be fine."

"But Headmistress, they are Ministry representatives-"

"You're right, Minty. Skip the biscuits," McGonagall amended.

The creature's ears quivered but it nodded and disappeared with another pop.

"Was that a…goblin?" O'Neill asked.

"House elf, actually."

"Oh."

McGonagall waved her wand and several rolls of parchment appeared. O'Neill browsed through them. The Ministry had sent him somewhat similar documents, but McGonagall's copies were much more interesting. They made quite a few references to the muggle problem and even suggested a few solutions which involved raiding the SGC, despite it being in the North American Wizard Council's jurisdiction.

"This looks less then promising," O'Neill admitted.

"The question is, what are we going to do about it? The Ministry is right in some regards. While Dumbledore was a member of the Wizengamot, I have never held a place in our government. I can advise you, but I have no authority to help."

"We can always call up the Asgard," O'Neill said.

"The Norse Pantheon? You have ancient gods on your side now?"

"Yeah, me and Thor are like that," O'Neill said holding up crossed fingers.

"So you call upon them and Gods will simply appear and stun the Ministry with their towering glory?"

"Well…probably not that. They're shorter than you might think. They gave us that cool beaming technology, though."

McGonagall nodded. She opened the drawer of her desk and pulled out several stacks of books.

"Our situation is not entirely unprecedented. You may wish to look over these."

O'Neill opened one of them. The binding started to crumble and a cloud of dust rose up around his face.

"Where's Daniel when you need him?"

* * *

Harry was used to looks; stares at "the boy who lived," but now things were different. He could tell that most of them didn't even recognize him. He heard whispers of "who's the muggle?" now. He didn't know if he liked that better or not. He took the stairs up to the astronomy tower. The sun was just setting, so the classes wouldn't arrive for at least an hour and a half. Hermione and Ron followed silently behind him. He'd seen them exchanging looks, and he could almost hear them thinking. "Is it him? Is he the same?" He was glad they hadn't asked him. He wasn't.

"_It will only take one more second Harry. Sit tight."_

_The machine let out a series of startling bangs, as if someone were pounding on the outside with a hammer._

"_One more second, Harry. Damn! Fifty percent function."_

"_Is that bad?" Harry called._

"_You're leaning on the talk-button, sir."_

"_Crap!" _

"_Does that mean my brain is only half-working?" Harry called out in panic. He did a quick check; multiplication tables, 12 times 3, thirty-six, still there, Hedwig is my owl. Elizabeth is the Queen. He couldn't find anything missing. The machine buzzed and the table Harry was lying on slid out. He blinked as nurses peeled electrodes off his head._

_O'Neill and Dr. Brightman were walking into the room._

"_Did you say my brain was only half working?" Harry repeated._

"_No," Dr. Brightman said. "10 is the norm for a human. 50 of your brain is currently active." The doctor paused and looked at O'Neill. He nodded. "The areas of excess stimulation correspond to those accessed by a Goa'uld when it is interacting with its host. Usually they return to normal after the parasite has been removed; in your case, that hasn't happened. There is also anomalous activity in your long-term memory centers." _

"_But there aren't any…pieces of that thing still in there, right?"_

"_No, all the remaining tissue has been absorbed," Brightman said._

"_I told you not to use the "A" word," O'Neill hissed._

They moved out onto the roof of the Astronomy tower. Harry went to the edge and leaned his back against the parapet. He felt the cold wind fly up his back. His hair was too short to be ruffled by it. It only stood up, unquiet.

"So where've you been? Really?" Ron asked.

_The elevator took twenty minutes to reach the surface. He could feel the mountain pressing in on him. He'd never felt claustrophobic before. Of course he'd never spent a month without seeing the sun before._

"_Where are we going?" Harry asked._

"_Area 51," Colonel Carter said._

"_But where is it?"_

"_That's classified," she said, smiling._

"_So's this," Harry said smiling back._

_They reached the surface and Harry couldn't help but bask in the sun until Carter caught his sleeve and tugged him along. They climbed into a black SUV and drove. Harry had sworn he wouldn't miss even a second of open sky, but he fell asleep after only a couple of hours. He woke again as they rolled through another security gate. They climbed out of the car and were searched and given scrubs to wear._

"_Is this it?" Harry asked, as they got into another elevator, going down of course._

"_Yep, this is the UFO factory." _

"Harry? Hello! You still here mate?" Ron asked.

"Oh yeah, Sorry. It's just strange being back, you know? It's almost like I never left."

"Almost," Hermione said with a hint of a smile. "Except for the clothes, that awful hair cut, and the fact that you've picked up a bit of an accent in the states."

"I haven't!" Harry objected.

"Soon you'll be asking us to 'chill dude'," Hermione continued in a very atrocious American accent.

For a few minutes they teased him while Harry tried to recover his mastery of the British language. Hermione finally kicked the topic back in front of them.

"Harry, where have you been?"

"I've been…I've been all over the place. I was in Colorado a lot of the time, before and after."

"Before and after what?" Hermione asked.

"Before and after I went off-world."

"Off-world?" Ron asked.

Harry nodded.

"As in on another world?" Ron pressed.

Harry nodded again.

"So you really were on the moon?" Hermione asked.

"On the way back…yeah," Harry said.

"That doesn't make any sense," Ron said. "How'd you get there?"

"Spaceship," Harry said. "I can't go into details, though. It's classified."

"A real spaceship?" Hermione asked. "One of the NASA shuttles? I thought they were temporarily out of commission-"

"It wasn't one of the spaceships humans made," Harry said.

Ron looked a bit stumped by that. "Who made it then? Goblins?"

"It wasn't made by anyone from Earth," Harry said.

He looked up and his friends looked up too. A few early stars were blinking in the navy-blue sky.

"Harry…" Hermione said. "There's no such thing. I mean, are you sure it wasn't some sort of trick?"

"I'll prove it," Harry said. "Come here."

They did and he put a hand on each of their shoulders. There was a blinding flash of light.

* * *

"I suppose we'll have to discuss Mr. Potter now," McGonagall said.

O'Neill shifted in his seat, and pushed the books away with relief.

"We still aren't entirely sure how Harry is," he started. "He says he's fine. He tells the psych people he's fine, but he's still sleepwalking. He'll turn up in a hall in his pajamas with no idea how he got there. He'll start speaking Goa'uld and not realize he's doing it. He has much more access to Ba'al's memories then he should. Carter had a symbiote in her head almost as long and all she gets are a few random words and images. Harry can draw up engineering diagrams and explain the physics behind their shield generators. He can read their writing. We can't do much besides watch him at this point."

"I've had Professor Snape researching options. There are personality suppression potions, but they've really only been used on the severely mentally deranged. We might resort to obliviation, but that spell is not as exact as one might wish for."

"We haven't turned up any plans for world domination in his footlocker," O'Neill said. "That's always a plus."

"I think it's time Harry returned to school," McGonagall said.

"He's this close with the specs for the satellite defense system, though," O'Neill objected weakly.

"He is still a child, General. He will not have a second chance to be one after your projects are finished."

"I know. Though if the kid agrees to it, we'd like to borrow him one weekend a month and two weeks a year. He can earn money for college."

McGonagall snorted into her tea. "I do believe I read that on a poster in your office. The final decision will be up to him of course, but I'm hoping you won't pressure him too much."

O'Neill leaned forward conspiratorially. "To be honest, we're all getting a little frustrated with moody teenager moments. I don't know how you deal with it."

"I can give them detention," she said.

"I can have them shot," O'Neill said. "It doesn't seem to help."

POP!

The elf was back.

"Minty is sorry for interrupting, Headmistress, but the Minister of Magic is here and Minty was not told he was coming so Minty must rearrange the chairs. Minty is sorry!"

"Don't upset yourself, Minty," McGonagall said, trying to hide her own annoyance. "I didn't know he was coming either."

O'Neill started to get up, but McGonagall waved him back into his seat. She swept out of the office, leaving O'Neill alone with the creepy moving pictures, the creepy books of wizard law, and the creepy elf.

"So…" O'Neill said, "You work here?"

The elf squeaked and disappeared. A minute later it was back with more chairs. It took a half an hour for the headmistress to return. O'Neill couldn't say that he thought much of the people she had in tow. They didn't walk in like they owned the place, at least. They looked as if they owned the house across the street and wanted the place bulldozed so as to clear the view, but they seemed well aware that it wasn't theirs.

The first guy was grizzled and hairy and looked as if he'd be just as comfortable in a caveman get up as he was in his judge-like robes. O'Neill half expected a greeting of "Ug! Ug smash!" but a greeting was expecting too much. Without looking at him, the caveman sat down. After the caveman was a tall red-haired kid, who might have been a Weasley except that he looked as if he had a stick up his…sleeve. He was followed by a short fat woman with too many teeth and a spare tire under her pink cardigan. No wonder McGonagall canceled the biscuits. Then came a short balding man who seemed to have polished his head for the occasion, and finally four tall men in blue robes, whom the Minister must have picked up at goon-mart on his way to the meeting.

Everyone but the blue robes and McGonagall sat without invitation. The blue robes stood around the room. One was trying to stare threateningly at O'Neill. The General pulled down his reflective sunglasses just enough to meet the man's eyes. O'Neill gave him the look he usually only gave someone from the other end of a sniper rifle. The ministry goon looked away. McGonagall tapped her wand on her desk and suddenly there was a long oval table in the middle of the room, around which they were already seated. She went to the chair at the end, and O'Neill stood up until she was seated again.

McGonagall opened her mouth to speak, but the caveman whom O'Neill guessed was the Minister beat her to it.

"Secure the room," he ordered.

The goons in blue robes ran about waving their wands. O'Neill supposed they were carrying out their orders. They stood back and the lead goon nodded to the Minister.

"Now, no one is coming and no one is leaving until this is sorted out," the cave-minister declared.

"Actually my diplomatic expert's been delayed," O'Neill said.

"And you expect us to compromise our security to let him in?" the redhead sneered.

"No," O'Neill said. "The wand waving doesn't really bother us. I just didn't want to startle anyone. There might be heart conditions in the group."

The redhead started to say something else, but McGonagall interceded.

"This will be conducted in a civil manner," she said.

O'Neill considered most anything short of the discharge of firearms to be civil, but he understood the need to keep order.

"You hardly have a say in these matters," the fat lady in the pink sweater said in a fake little girl voice.

The room seemed to grow darker. McGonagall stood. "I am Headmistress of this school, and you would do well to remember that the castle does not take kindly to pretenders, Umbridge."

Umbridge opened her mouth to speak, but there was a distinct rumble from the floor beneath their feet. The magical folk looked around nervously.

"So…" O'Neill interrupted "how about that treaty?"

* * *

"Hey Harry!" said a very nondescript man in the blue uniform, as the three teenagers stepped off the platform.

"Hey Sergeant Belerman," Harry replied cheerfully.

Ron's mouth was hanging wide open. "We didn't…we were…that wasn't Apparating."

"Nope," Harry said. "That was good old fashion extraterrestrial technology."

"You're sounding American again," Hermione said absently as she walked towards a glowing panel on the wall.

"General O'Neill said I could show you guys around if you'll sign confidentiality agreements," Harry said, digging through his pockets. "And I really hope you will, because I was supposed to have them signed before we got up here."

Ron's mouth was still hanging slightly open as he scrawled his name across the page. Hermione signed hers without looking. Her name was sideways across the sign-here line, but Harry thought that was close enough. He stuffed the paper back in his pocket.

"Don't touch that, Miss!" Belerman called.

Harry looked over and saw Hermione had her hand on a data integration port. He caught her arm and steered her and Ron away down the hall. They went through several airlocks, dodging crewmembers who looked like they were going somewhere important.

"So we're in space now?" Ron asked as they passed through a cargo bay.

Harry nodded.

"Where are we going, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"The launch bay," he said.

"The launch bay?" Ron asked.

Harry nodded again. "We've got the new X6 on board. They're doing a test launch at 0100, that's in about fifteen minutes. It's classified, of course, but it is definitely worth seeing."

The launch bay was crowded with men and women in blue jumpsuits and one guy in a funny formfitting suit with a helmet on. They were all running around a little silver airplane with wings that went out to the side and then curved back up over the body of the craft, like a man holding his arms over his head.

"Is that machine really going to fly?" Ron asked.

"That's the plan," one of the men in blue jumpsuits said as he came up to them. "Harry, could you look over the engine control relay one more time? We're getting some weird interference on the E.M. stabilizers and the Naquadah reintegration module is rattling whenever we fire it up past 15."

The man said all of this in one continuous breath. He smiled and nodded at Ron and Hermione, then went back to staring at Harry.

"I could take a look at it. The module probably just needs to be re-centered in the housing. I don't know about the stabilizer, though. It checked out on the ground. It might be the sho mel atck'seem warn toe shal em und tee'ro mal kec art…"

"English please," said the man in the blue jumpsuit politely.

"Right. Sorry, Mike. It might be the…internal field generator interacting with the external wave variance that we used to cancel out the continual acceleration of the ion streams. I'll need to see the interference patterns."

"Sure thing," Mike said, pulling a little plastic rectangle out of his pocket and handing it to Harry.

It had little moving bars on it that Ron couldn't make heads or tails of. He and Hermione exchanged looks. She shrugged as well.

"Can we boost power to the internal field?" Harry asked.

"They're maxed out."

"I can't tell for sure unless we take the whole thing apart. The E.M. isn't messing up the other control systems, is it?"

"No, but it's making us nervous."

"Like I said, to figure it out I'd have to take the whole thing apart, but even if the stabilizer does conk out, the ship won't blow up. We'll just lose the com system and the sensor package. Major Miller should still be able to pilot back here without any problem."

"I'll pass that on to Captain Williams. Thanks. Dr. Jackson is saving you seats in front of port twelve. Better hurry up. He's fighting with some Russian ambassador over them."

"I thought Americans and Russians didn't like each other. Aren't they having a frost war or something like that?" Ron asked as they crossed to a linked corridor.

"A cold war, Ron," Hermione said. "And it's been over for nearly a decade."

They stepped through another airlock, into a room with a window. Ron and Hermione immediately ran to it. The Earth was turning slowly beneath them, the size of a basketball from their vantage point. The marble-sized moon was visible, too.

"This is unbelievable!" Hermione said.

"Please don't put your hands on the glass, Miss," asked yet another man in a blue jumpsuit.

Hermione stepped back from the window. Harry waved her and Ron over to the row of chairs bolted to the wall about a meter off the floor. They had harnesses on them. Three of the seats were already occupied, one by a man in a blue jumpsuit, one by man in a Russian military uniform and one by a man in a business suit and glasses. The man with the glasses looked as if he were about to sneeze.

"Hey, Doctor Jackson," Harry said.

"Hey, Harry," the man with the glasses replied. "This is Colonel Malkoloft, and you already know Lt. Angara," he said, nodding to the Russian and the man in the jumpsuit.

Harry shook the Russian Colonel's hand. "Good to finally meet you," the Russian said. "You have a last name, I suppose?"

"Not with me," Harry replied.

The Russian snorted. Harry didn't introduce Hermione or Ron. Instead he waved them over to chairs. Hermione had to be boosted into hers. As they strapped in, Ron pointed out the red digital countdown on the wall above the door.

"It's so nobody runs into the bay right before they lose the atmosphere," Harry explained.

The countdown hit zero and the floor and walls rattled. Through the window they saw the little silver craft dart out into the void. It vanished almost instantly into the distance.

"Why did we tie ourselves to chairs?" Ron asked.

"One second," Harry said.

Ron started to say something to Hermione but his mouth clicked shut as the floor tilted. The people in blue jumpsuits just leaned into the turn, but Ron was willing to admit, to himself at least, that he probably would have gone flying.

"The gravity generators can't compensate rapidly enough when you combine sharp turns with acceleration like we just did," Harry supplied. "We're going to play tag with the X6 to see how well it maneuvers, and to make sure we're nearby if something goes wrong."

The Hogwarts students nodded uncomprehendingly. The ship continued to tilt and tip and the pattern of stars outside the window changed. They had only brief glimpses of the little silver ship, though. Ron didn't think it was nearly as exciting as riding on a broom, though he couldn't stop his mouth from dropping open as they circled the dark side of the moon. The silver ship eventually passed their window again on its way back into the launch bay. Ron checked his watch. They'd been in space an entire hour. Thinking about it made his head feel rather empty.

Harry helped them escape their safety harnesses and they headed back to the room they had beamed into. It took Ron a minute to realize the man in the glasses, Jackson, was walking behind them. Harry shooed them up onto the platform, and a flash of light later they were standing on the lawn outside he castle.

"That was…interesting," Hermione finally managed to say.

* * *

O'Neill dropped another cube of sugar into his tea, and wished strongly for a zat gun. The Ministry representatives were arguing with each other more than with him.

"We need to obliviate them before this goes any further!" the redhead, who in fact was a Weasley, said.

_Maybe a staff weapon_, O'Neill thought, _or a Goa'uld grenade_.

"It's left the galaxy already," O'Neill interrupted boredly as he scribbled on his notepad. "It's a little outside your reach."

"You'd be surprised how far our reach extends," The Minister of Magic said ominously.

O'Neill wondered if it would be interpreted as an assassination attempt if he threw his hat at the wizards' head of state. _Only if I hit him in the eye_, he concluded.

"We were talking about the treaty, weren't we?" O'Neill asked.

The balding man with the polished head, Undersecretary Mulford, interrupted with something that was at least vaguely logical. "The agreements you've made with Hogwarts staff, no matter their prominence, are not valid in our government. School teachers do not have the authority to make agreements on behalf of the entire wizarding world."

"So you want to go to war?" O'Neill asked.

"What?"

"The treaties signed were non-aggression and confidentiality agreements. Well, you all don't seem to want the rest of the 'muggle' world to know about you, and the only other thing on that paper is the non-aggression agreement. We aren't left with many options, are we?"

"We do not wish to go to war!" The Minister said.

"So what's the problem, then?" O'Neill asked.

"Dumbledore and McGonagall are not members of the government!" Mulford said.

"So you want to sign it, too? All right. Can't have too many signatures, I guess. I'll have it beamed down."

"That is not the issue!" Mulford said.

"Are you always this dense?" The Minister demanded, slamming his fist on the table.

"It's my strategy," O'Neill said.

A vein was standing out in the Minister's forehead. The air suddenly got very crispy, and there was a blinding flash of light on the far side of the room. The blue-robed goon squad pulled their wands, and pointed them at Daniel Jackson, who had appeared with a file folder in one hand and a bunch of funny looking flowers in the other.

"Sorry, I'm late," Daniel said. "I hope it's not a problem. I didn't think I'd be able to find my way up here otherwise."

Daniel handed the flowers to McGonagall.

"They're from Bre'tac. Well, sort of. He actually wanted to send you the severed talons of an M'tarn, but Teal'c convinced him these would be better received. It's a thank-you gift, for your assistance in the battle on PX499."

McGonagall nodded her thanks and conjured up another chair for Daniel to sit in. The goons were still pointing wands at him, but Daniel didn't seem to mind. Daniel leaned towards O'Neill.

"How's it going?" he asked in a low voice.

"Did you happen to bring a zat?"

* * *

They sat down by the edge of the lake. Hagrid hadn't been in his hut, so they'd just kept walking until they ran out of land.

"So are you going to tell us how you learned all that?" Ron asked.

Harry picked up a stone and tossed it into the water. The squid slapped it back. Harry snatched it out of the air a moment before it could strike Hermione in the face.

"I'll tell you. But I don't know…" Harry started to say.

He leaned down to get another rock to throw. His friends both saw the scars on the back of his neck, faded to almost nothing, but worrying all the same. Hermione reached out to touch them, and Harry lunged away, not stopping until he was knee deep in lake water.

"Sorry," he said, awkwardly slogging his way back up the bank. "They get in through…" he trailed off.

"Harry," Hermione said. "What's going on?"

He sat down again, this time facing them with his back to the water.

"I've…I've things to say but… I can't seem to get them out."

"Why don't we start then?" Hermione said. "I'm sure Bill and Charlie couldn't catch you up on everything. Let's see. We had new Potions and Transfiguration professors. Defense was even less organized than usual. Off-duty Aurors came in whenever they had time, to give us lessons. And I know they weren't discussing what they were going to cover. It had nothing to do with the reading. A lot of them just talked about the awful curses they had seen or been struck with while on duty. Tonks gave a rather funny lecture on figuring out if someone was really who they said they were. She came into the classroom looking like Professor Snape. It took forever for us to notice that he…she was wearing heels and fishnets."

"It was creepy!" Ron added.

As if Harry couldn't figure that out.

"Then for potions we have Slughorn. He plays favorites like you wouldn't believe. A rather eccentric elderly man named Gom taught transfiguration. He was from Queensland, though, and he used a staff instead of a wand so we had a hard time following what he was doing."

Harry sat listening as Hermione went on about new security rules, temporary refugee camps, and evacuation drills. Ron added some personal commentary on excessive homework, snotty Death Eaters' children, and the humiliating daily letters from his mum. After a while, Harry was able to tell them.

He told them in as few details as possible: Voldemort's mark and the curse, being sent away by the muggles, training and fighting with Jaffa, and a parasite in his head. They looked like they were ready to explode with questions, but did not ask. Hermione broke the long silence that followed.

"It's getting cold. We should go inside."

The boys nodded and they started walking back to the castle. Several lit wands were coming out to meet them. For a moment Harry held out hope that it was the other Gryffindors, come to welcome him back or at least stare. Then he saw Draco Malfoy was leading them.

* * *

"I still don't like that last paragraph," O'Neill said.

"Which part?" Mulford asked.

"So if the world is coming to an end, the sun is exploding, meteors are raining down, you still won't want to lend a hand?"

"It's hardly our responsibility," The Minister said.

"You do live on this planet," O'Neill pointed out. "Wouldn't you be even the slightest bit upset if it were no longer…you know…here?"

"The Earth will not be destroyed," The Minister said. "It has always been and always will be."

"Planets get blown up all the time," O'Neill said. "Haven't you ever seen Star Wars?"

The Minister gave him a cold glare. O'Neill shrugged.

"Alright, we'll leave it as is. It's not like we need your help."

Pens were passed around and parchment was signed. O'Neill leaned back and sighed. It wasn't the best treaty they could have worked out, but it did clearly establish where everyone stood. The Ministry would not interfere with SGC business or anything occurring outside the Earth's atmosphere. In return the SGC and muggle governments involved with it would not interfere, or apparently even make eye contact with "the Magic community". The only exceptions involved werewolves, who would be allowed into the moon base for treatment, and Harry Potter. Harry would be allowed to work with the SGC but he couldn't use magic to aid them, and the SGC was responsible for any problems Harry caused. And then there was nondisclosure all around.

Everyone was standing up and getting ready to leave. Daniel actually got a few of the wizards to shake his hand. O'Neill still couldn't understand how the archeologist could be such a "people person" and remain unable to pick up women in bars. O'Neill was about to ask McGonagall where the bathroom was when something outside exploded.

The blue robed goons all circled around the Minister. McGonagall looked put-upon and opened the door. She hurried out and Daniel and O'Neill were only a few steps behind her. They were out on the lawn a few minutes later. O'Neill hoped he'd still be moving that fast if he ever got to be that old.

A huge crowd of students were gathered in a semicircle around Harry and a slightly taller blond teenager. The Minister came huffing and puffing behind them.

"What's going on here?" The Minister demanded.

"Looks like a fight," O'Neill said.

"It appears Mr. Malfoy is upset about something," McGonagall said. "It probably has something to do with the death of his father. Lucius Malfoy was at the Ministry for a hearing when it was destroyed by Ba'al. He'd been warded to prevent him from disapparating and was unable to escape."

The blond shot another jet of red light at Harry, but he leapt over it. They circled each other. The blond was hissing insults, but Harry's face was calm.

"Mr. Potter does seem to be much more in control of his temper. I suppose there is something to be said for military discipline," McGongall said.

The blond swung his wand around again and this time a rope of white light whipped out of the end. Blondie snapped it at Harry's head but he lunged sideways out of its path, turning his momentum into a couple of cartwheels which carried him out of range.

"He learned that from the Jaffa," O'Neill said. "The United States Air Force does not condone the use of cartwheels."

Harry sidestepped another lash of the whip and took a few steps towards Blondie. He was forced back again when Blondie abandoned the whip and returned to the red blasts of energy.

"Are you going to end this?" the Minister demanded of McGonagall. "Potter is going to be killed. He's unarmed."

"Harry'll end it when he gets bored," O'Neill said confidently. "See. There he goes."

Harry charged the blond kid, ducking and sidestepping bursts of lights. His foot snapped up and he kicked the wand out of Blondie's hand. Harry could have finished the other kid off then, but he stepped back.

"This won't fix things," Harry said to the other boy.

"Go to hell, Potter," Blondie growled.

"I'd say 'been there', but that would be cliché," Harry said. "Give it up, Malfoy."

Blondie yelled and charged. Harry's fist caught him in the jaw. Blondie landed flat on his back and did not get up.

"Didn't even get to place bets," O'Neill muttered.

"Are you injured?" McGonagall asked as Harry walked up to her with Ron and Hermione trailing behind.

"No, Professor," Harry replied.

His left ear was a little singed, but O'Neill thought he looked ok. The Minister and his entourage stomped past them down the steps. The two Weasleys exchanged glares, but didn't speak. When they were gone, O'Neill turned to Harry.

"Settling in alright?"

Harry nodded. "It just wouldn't be school if somebody weren't trying to kill me."

McGonagall nodded. "You may return to school anytime you wish. I believe Ms. Granger has saved all your homework assignments for you."

"Yes," Hermione said agreeably. "You've got thirty seven essays due, and quite a bit of reading if you're going to catch up before exams. They're in three weeks, you know."

Harry smiled and turned to O'Neill.

"Am I staying, then?" Harry asked.

"If you want, though we'd really appreciate it if you could pigeon us the plans for the satellite defense system."

"Owl, sir," Hermione corrected.

"Owl to you too," O'Neill said. "Well, if you'll excuse us, we need to give these papers to…somebody."

"General Copeland," Daniel provided. "It was nice meeting you," the archeologist said, addressing the group.

O'Neill shook everyone's hands and then reached into his pocket. There was a beep and the two muggles vanished in a flash of light.

* * *

"Did my school trunk ever turn up?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Ron said. "It's by your bed. It's a bit beat up though. You might want to conjure yourself up a cot for the night as well."

"Why?"

"Dobby's made a sort of shrine on your bed."

"Oh no."

"He's also been trying to write a memorial ballad for you. He keeps asking Hermione and I for input."

Harry looked to Hermione.

"It's five hundred stanzas and doesn't contain a single pronoun," she said.

"You want to hear the first verse?" Ron asked.

"Definitely not."

"Too bad," Ron said.

As the three Gryffindors climbed the steps, terrible singing echoed through the castle, but everyone slept more soundly despite it.

The End 


End file.
